


Dare the lie, dare the truth

by Cute Negativity Cloud (Ofelia)



Series: An endless list of clichéd and ABSOLUTELY DELICIOUS AUs, Half Bad edition [5]
Category: Half Bad, Half Life Trilogy - Sally Green
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Multi, Rating May Change, the fake dating AU you didn't know you needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:40:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3710074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ofelia/pseuds/Cute%20Negativity%20Cloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The head of the aristocratic Swiss family Neuchâtel de Gorgier has decided it's in their best interests to form an alliance with the English Ashworth-Byrn dinasty. Through marriage. The designated male victim of the arrangment is Gabriel, who politely plays along, but who is also wholly unimpressed with the Byrn girls. The Byrn black sheep, however, definitely catches his interest.<br/>After all, Gabriel had told his grandmother he's gay. Not his fault she didn't listen. Now, if only he and Nathan could find a way to convince everyone, unequivocally, that Gabriel really can't marry Jessica Byrn...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This isn't the Fourteenth Century

Gabriel couldn't believe what he had just heard. He didn't know whether to laugh at the absolute absurdity or just get up and leave.

 _"Mamie_ , you must be joking," he said, an uncertain smile on his lips.

She glared at him. Adrastée D'Ivernois never joked.

"This is no laughing matter, Gabriel. You're my eldest grandson and our family's ties must be carefully strengthened.”

“But...”

“Your mother got away with marrying that good-for-nothing father of yours – something she paid dearly for, might I add – and so it falls unto you to right her wrongdoings.”

“But...”

“Really, you have only her to blame. Thanks to her scandalous marriage we were shunned, and then after her divorce we became a laughingstock! A marriage to a penniless painter, of all things! This is not the time for bohemian fantasies. The 19th century is long past.”

“But...”

“So now, it's time for you to do your duty, and marry a girl from an influential, ancient and most importantly aristocratic family, as it should have always been.”

“ _Mamie_.”

“ _What_ _?_ ”

“I'm gay.”

Gabriel's grandmother scoffed. “Like _that_ has been a problem before, ever.”

He hung his head and hid his face in his hands.

She continued, undeterred. “You're young, Gabriel, and this could well be just a phase. Besides, and I'm going to be completely honest here, I'm not asking you to love this girl, I'm asking you to marry her. You wouldn't be the first man to fulfill his duty and... _cultivate_... other hobbies on the side. Bluntly put, this marriage will be a matter of prestige and economical alliance, as you certainly realize.”

Gabriel lifted his head, only to shake it and laugh. “So the 19th century is long past for mom, but for me it's still the 14th?”

Adrastée's eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you going to fight me on this, Gabriel?”

Gabriel smiled, amused, if only a little appalled. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

 

“This is _outrageous_!” Michèle screamed, hands in her hair and eyes comically wide.

Gabriel grimaced. “There is really no reason to yell like that.”

“No reason? No _reason_!” his sister said, enunciating every letter of the word as if Gabriel hadn't understood it the first time. “That old hag wants you to fly to England and marry a girl you can't possibly be interested in, and you say there's no reason to yell? I want to yell in her ear until tomorrow!”

“That's really thoughtful of you, but in the meantime could you please not yell into my ear? My eardrums are crying for mercy.”

Michèle pursed her lips and crossed her arms, but she stopped. She fixed her brother with a frown. Here she was, worrying and screaming on his behalf, and he was lounging on the sofa reading, as usual, like he didn't have a single care in the world – which, by all accounts, he _totally should have_!

“Aren't you bothered by this at all?”

Gabriel sighed. “It's no use refusing to go. I will meet this girl – it would be too impolite not to go at this point – but that's it. It's not like _mamie_ can hold my hand and make me sign the marriage contract.”

“But isn't it... I don't know... _dangerous_ to indulge her like this? What if she thinks you will really go through it?” Michèle said, pacing the living room in distress. “Worse, what if that family – what's its name, Byrn? What if the Byrn family thinks that you are actually interested in their daughter for real?”

Gabriel grinned. “'Actually interested for real'? Why thank you, sis, for driving the point home that I could never like a girl, ever.”

Michèle grabbed a cushion from the sofa and jumped him, smothering his smug laughing face. “You know what I mean!”

They mock-wrestled then, until Gabriel was sure Michèle was smiling and happy again. They lay side by side on the floor, breathless from too much laughter.

“I'll stay there for as long as was arranged by _mamie_ ,” he said, “and I'll make it clear that I'm not interested. I'll just be polite about it.”

“So that's the plan?”

“Yes, that's the plan.”

“It's a shitty plan.”

Gabriel laughed. “Well, what else do you sugges---”

“Let me come with you!”

He looked at her, surprised, then grinned. “Why? Looking for a suitable husband?”

Michèle scoffed. “Please. Everybody knows I'm no marriage material. I'm an uncultured, rebellious bitch with the bad habit of throwing plates in a rage.”

He got closer then, rolling on his side and putting his hands on her shoulders. He kissed her forehead and said, “You're all of that and so much more.”

She smiled at that, softly. “I will make sure any snobbish English arsehole who dares to disrespect, annoy or inconvenience you gets hit by a plate square in the face.”

Gabriel laughed. “Now _that_ is a plan.”

 

 

 

As was to be expected, the Byrn estate was ancient and magnificent, with blue-gray rooftops and an intricate facade, with columns, turrets, and merlons decorating its summit. True to its name – Bryn Du, “black hill” – its walls were made of some kind of unusual black stone, giving it a distinctly menacing aura. The effect was mitigated by the well-tended garden in front, bright with flowers. Tall trees enclosed it on three sides, and the woods, spreading dark green and black, climbed up the hills behind.

As the chauffeur held the door open, Gabriel got out of the car and took it all in. He idly wondered if the manor's name took after the family's name, or if it was the other way around.

Michèle bounced behind him. “Talk about welcoming,” she said. “Let's hope the Byrns have a more charming personality than their manor.”

Gabriel shot her an amused look. “Do you think you could refrain from insulting our hosts in front of their employees, who will probably report everything we say?”

Michèle smirked. “I could, but I won't.”

He shook his head at her, but he was smiling too. “Let's stick to the plan, all right?”

“You mean, the shitty plan?”

“Yes, the shitty plan,” he said, as he walked towards the entrance of the manor. He could see two attendants opening the central doors and a few others hauling their luggage inside, but no one else – until a figure emerged from a rose bush in full bloom, on his left. It was an elderly woman, dressed in gardening overalls, green and muddy, a pair of shears in her gloved hand. She stood up and walked to them, strides long and confident. She took off her gloves and stuffed them in a pocket before offering her hand. “Mr. Neuchâtel de Gorgier, I assume?”

He took her hand – the skin was rough – and kissed it. “That would be me,” Gabriel said, assessing her quickly. The calluses on her hand and her clothes were those of a gardener, but her composure betrayed an assurance that spoke of something more. “You must be _Madame_ Ashworth,” he said.

She smirked at him, and he knew then that he had just passed his first test. The part of him that liked to be liked was pleased. The sensible part reminded him that he was here to wreck his _mamie_ and this woman's plans.

“Indeed I am. I'm happy to be the first one to meet you,” she said, and then she hold her hand out to Michèle, shook it gracefully. She handed the shears to an attendant and led the way to the manor's entrance. “It's kind of you to indulge my son-in-law's arrangement. You probably think this matchmaking scheme is quite medieval, and of course I agree with you.” She raised an eyebrow at him, prompting a response. Gabriel just smiled and listened. The part of him that liked to be liked reared its head and listened with great interest – how nice it would be if this cool old lady who liked to roughen her hands in the garden was on his side. Someone had to have their feet on the ground in this family. Someone always did, even in ancient, snobbish and aristocratic houses - or so Gabriel hoped, anyway.

“However, your grandmother seemed exceedingly eager to merge our families' properties. Doing so through marriage is unusual these days,” she continued, watching him, looking for a reaction.

Michèle snorted. Gabriel prayed she was sensible enough not to say anything – especially how _mamie_ was obsessed with “restoring their family's name”, as she always moaned, while growling a few insults towards their father for good measure. In her eyes, her house's reputation had been in jeopardy for too long, and more than estate or shares or companies, what was needed was a restoration of blood (although a fat share parcel would make the choice of partner that much more smoother).

And so, here he was. Ready to politely wreck everybody's plans.

“I think talking about marriage is a little premature, _Madame_ Ashworth,” he said. “I'm just here to meet with your granddaughter, make her acquaintance. I'm sure neither of us is in any hurry.”

The woman looked at him with a funny expression Gabriel couldn't decipher before it was gone. “I think this is as good as any moment to mention that I have two granddaughters, and both are waiting to meet you.”

Gabriel tried hard not to gape (the fact that Michèle didn't try at all to hide her snort didn't help). Was _mamie_ really that desperate?

Or was the Byrn family the desperate one?

Mrs Ashworth left them to change out of her gardening overalls. The butler ushered them through the corridors to a bright, spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the back garden. The panes were open, letting a warm breeze flutter the white curtains. It was quite the change from the rest of the house they had seen, which favoured dark woods and austere furniture. A man, sharply dressed in a three-piece steel gray suit, got up from an armchair to greet them. He introduced himself as Dean Byrn, head of the household. He looked in his early fifties, and he radiated the assured self-importance that comes with nobility and old money. Gabriel shook his hand and thanked him for the invitations. The man's grip was deathlike-strong. Gabriel disliked him instantly.

Mr Byrn then gestured to the two young women sitting on the sofa behind him and introduced them too. Jessica, the eldest daughter of the family, had sharp features and a proudly held chin. Her lovely face was crowned in thick, glossy curls of an ashen blond colour. She had the same haughty assurance of her father, who spoke of her with obvious pride. Her younger sister, Deborah, greeted the two siblings more warmly, but she seemed ill at ease. She kept fidgeting with the end of her braid, twirling it around a finger, and she avoided looking at Gabriel as much as possible. She kept close to her younger brother, Arran – who had a gentle smile, high cheekbones, light brown hair that curled at the nape and fine collarbones that peeked through his slightly open shirt, not that Gabriel was noticing – and she kept glancing between her sister and her father.

The conversation began with idle remarks on the estate, the woods, the charity balls they had attended and so on, until Mrs Ashworth joined them. The coffee table was then laden with tea and tea cakes and slices of fruits, and Mr Byrn moved on to the family's businesses, taking care to stress what roles Deborah and Jessica had in them – although it was clear that Jessica was the one more directly involved; of the younger sister he had little more to say than “She works in the family's charity organization”. Instead, the eldest sister and heir to the fortune had studied in the United States, had worked for two prestigious law firms, was involved in the management of the Byrn fortune and on top of that, she was also working on her PhD. Gabriel was certainly impressed, but he couldn't help but to notice the chasm in both age and interests between them. He never had any intention to even consider marrying one of the Byrn girls, yet he wondered what kind of marriage theirs would have been.

He tried his best to politely steer the conversation on more interesting – and less laden with implications – topics such as books and the latest pieces of opera and theater shown in London, and he was relieved to have Mrs Ashworth join in. Deborah was particularly interested in the literary subjects, and she seemed to enjoy their talk, although she looked uneasy still. Michèle had taken a liking to her, and she kept her engaged as much as she could. She knew well how a conversation about books with Gabriel would have ended (that is to say, with gushing), and although that would have been nice, they couldn't risk him getting too enthusiastic and give the wrong impression. Even more important, they couldn't risk the Gabriel Effect – the known natural disaster that was him smiling at any female, and the female swooning instantly. It was her duty as a sister to protect Gabriel from his own powers (and protect Deborah too – she could be as nice as they come but that wouldn't change the fact that her brother was gay).

For his own part, Gabriel was glad he didn't come alone. _Mamie_ had strongly suggested to remain at Bryn Du for at least two weeks. If it wasn't for Michèle he'd be exhausted already, and it had only been an hour or so. Mr Byrn was incredibly snobbish, Jessica was just as bad and on top of that, arrogant. Both had an irritating holier-than-thou attitude. He wondered if it was for his own specific benefit – as he was from a family which had fallen out of favour in society's eyes – or if they were like that with everyone.

 _This is going to be an exhausting stay_ , he thought.

A loud bang was heard outside the room. Everyone stilled and looked at the double doors – which flew open with another loud bang when the knobs hit the wall. A boy stood in the entrance, hair dark and smile darker. He wore a crumpled high school uniform and the white shirt was splattered with blood; blood ran down the side of his face from a cut on his temple.

“Nathan!” Arran exclaimed, getting up and running to him. “What happened to you?”

The boy's smile got broader as he said, with obvious delight, “I got expelled!”

Mr Byrn visibly fought for control as he stood up and called, “Rose!”

A young woman in a black suit and tie appeared beside Nathan and Arran. Her hair was tied in a tight braid, rolled on top of her head, and she wore an earpiece. Gabriel was instantly sure she had a gun or two hidden on her. Mr Byrn said, trembling in rage, “Take him to his room and take care he doesn't leave it until I say so.”

Nathan didn't acknowledge him nor the command at all; he seemed to enjoy Arran fussing over him and his cuts. Gabriel glanced at the other members of the family, wondering who this hurricane of a boy was. He had destroyed the boring atmosphere of before in a most spectacular fashion. Mrs Ashworth seemed both amused and fondly exasperated. Jessica looked like she wanted to either throw something or strangle him. Deborah started to get up, but Mr Byrn put a hand on her shoulder and kept her down, saying, “We're not done here.”

Deborah glared at him. “I think we've given enough of a pitiful show for today, dad,” she said, and with that she jerked her shoulder away. She got up and walked to Arran and Nathan. The bodyguard, Rose, was holding the door open for them. Mr Byrn was seething as he called, “Nathan.”

The boy turned. Arran had an arm around his shoulders, and he looked worried when he turned to his father. “What?” Nathan said, eyes smouldering with challenge and contempt.

“You owe our guests an apology for disrupting their conversation.”

If he wasn't keen on reading the atmosphere, Gabriel would have laughed at how ridiculous that sounded. _Disrupting the conversation_? But he was fascinated by the events unfolding, so he stayed perfectly still and waited without giving any thought away. Who was this boy not invited to meet the family's guests, this dark fury doted on by two of the siblings but spited by the eldest?

Nathan turned to Gabriel and Michèle, studying them with stormy eyes. Gabriel found himself suddenly craving to know what he was seeing, what he thought of them. The boy smirked and spread his arms wide as he bowed, saying in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “I apologize for interrupting your assessment of my sisters' value for marriage. Keep Jessica if you want, no one cares, but touch Deborah and I'll break your nose too.”

As Jessica and Mr Byrn yelled at him, he was hauled out by both the bodyguard and his siblings. Gabriel turned to Michèle, who looked in awe just as much as him. They grinned at each other.

_This is going to be a fantastic stay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when I read "Pride and Prejudice" and "Wuthering Heights" in close succession, and THEN someone suggests that a fake dating AU would be just perfect for Nathan and Gabriel. Also, Sally Green constantly reminding us how much she loves "Wuthering Heights" doesn't help.  
> The image I used for Bryn Du is actually a photo of Waddesdon Manor, in Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire - modifyed so that the walls are actually black. Thanks to my sis reilachii@tumblr for the help :)  
> Waddesdon Manor is (was?) actually a Rothschild's property. Which is even funnier when you think Nathan's family is almost comically poor in Half Bad. From rags to riches indeed.  
> As always, you can hit me up at cutenegativitycloud.tumblr if you want to talk Half Bad (I ALWAYS want to talk Half Bad, rest assured).


	2. Planning a diplomatic incident

Gabriel was, to say the least, intrigued.

He had come to Bryn Du expecting an excruciating exercise in posh politeness. What he got was a dark and bloodied beauty he was dying to see again. The Byrn family walked on eggshells around the topic, dancing around it whenever questions got too direct. It was obviously a dividing issue. The only things Gabriel managed to pry out of them were that he was the youngest sibling, he was seventeen, and a troublemaker.

Gabriel was so, so intrigued.

He had hoped to see him again at dinner, but he didn't show – probably grounded in his room for being _expelled_ , or for being disrespectful to Mr Byrn – his father? Gabriel wondered – or for both. Jessica had made a venomous comment about it as they all ate together. Deborah had slammed her fork hard on the table. Nobody had commented further.

Michèle was ecstatic when they talked about it, in the privacy of their guest rooms. “What do you think he did to get expelled? Hit someone? Break a few thousands of their bones?  _Joined a gang_ ?”

Gabriel had laughed. “That sounds quite dramatic.”

“ _He was covered in blood_!” Michèle continued, the awe of the meeting still fresh in her eyes. “And he obviously cares about Deborah, who is obviously the only nice one out of the sisters, and he told you he'll break your nose if you pick her!” She frowned then. “I mean, as a sister I appreciate the sentiment, and it's not like there's any chance of that happening anyway, but if he touches you I'll have to kill him.”

Gabriel couldn't help himself. “I wouldn't mind if he touched me,” he said, lips stretched in a sly smirk.

Michèle gaped at him. “No.”

He grinned. She leaped at him and jumped on his back, arms around his neck in a vicious grip. “Oh my god Gabriel that's great! You can't!”

He laughed, keeping her up by the knees. “It's either one or the other, Michèle.”

“It's great that you finally found someone you like! But it's bad it's someone from this terrible family!” she yelled, bouncing and almost toppling her brother. For all that Gabriel was so handsome it verged on embarrassing – walking around with him was a goddamn joke, the girls turned and stared and giggled between each other, and not a few boys turned too – he was unfathomably single. His explanation was that he was a romantic, waiting for the right person. Her explanation was that he was too damn picky and idealistic. That's what you get when you let your brother read too many gothic novels.

“I don't think they're so terrible. Mrs Ashworth looks perfectly fine to me, and Deborah and Arran too,” he reasoned. “It's just that it's obvious who's leading the household, and that's not them.”

“Yeah, it's the arrogant jerks who do,” she said. Then she perked up. “Do you think your marriage to Nathan would please _mamie_? After all it's legal now in both England and France!”

Gabriel walked to her bed, turned his back to it, and let himself fall. Michèle yelped and flailed under him, but she didn't try very hard to move him.

“I doubt that's what _mamie_ had in mind when she ordered me to come here,” he said, finally rolling off his sister to sprawl on the covers. “I think she'd throw a fit if I did that. I mean, technically it could work the same, but I don't think she'd survive the scandal. First her daughter elopes with a painter, then said painter is unfaithful and everybody knows it, then they divorce, _and then_ her grandson comes back from his matchmaking session married to a boy? She'd have a stroke.”

“And that would be terrible.” Something dark laced her voice.

Gabriel sighed. “Don't say that.”

Michèle groaned. Then she said, “So what do you think about your prospective bride, Mr Darcy?”

He covered his face with his hands and groaned loudly. “Please don't compare my life to _Pride and Prejudice_.”

She grabbed a pillow and threw it at his face. “Are you implying _Pride and Prejudice_ isn't a worthy book to compare your life to? I won't have Jane Austen disrespected in my presence! Although now that I think about it, you can't be Mr Darcy because he's the one with the money and status. So if anything, Jessica is the Mr Darcy to your Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Why thank you, Michèle, for giving me the lovely image of Jessica in a frock coat and sideburns.”

“Well she does have his sunny disposition, that's for sure.”

Gabriel grabbed the pillow and held it to his chest. “If I could choose the book my life takes after, I'd choose something darker. More Romantic.”

“Romantic as in,” and Michèle sprawled on the bed, an arm thrown over her eyes in a show of pathos, “ _Oh, Nathan, I can't bear the thought of living without you, let's elope and hide in Paris and live in poverty of means but abundance of love_!”

“I meant Romantic love, capital 'r'. As in, _Nathan, come grave robbing with me in a thunderstorm_. Or we could find the nearest moors and get lost in them during a thunderstorm, that's pretty Romantic too.”

Michèle smirked at him. “That's very _Wuthering Heights_.”

He hid his smile behind the pillow. “And Nathan is very Heathcliff.”

“Oh my god Gabriel. That's really a bad idea, you know that right?”

He stared at her, still smiling.

“I mean I understand he's handsome, and dark, and broody, and totally your type, although not very tall, actually he's kinda short, but I'm sure you'd like him to stretch a bit on his tiptoes to kiss you, you loser.”

His grin could have split his face in two. “Are you trying to discourage me or to encourage me here?”

She got serious at that, staring at him with a thoughtful look for a moment. She touched his cheek, fingers feather-light. “You deserve to meet the most gorgeous boy of your dreams and live happily ever after. If that boy is Nathan Byrn then I'll fight anyone who dares to stand in your way.”

He took her hand in his own and held it to his chest. “Thank you. But I think we're getting ahead of ourselves. Let's keep our feet on the ground and focus on surviving this stay without causing a diplomatic incident, okay?”

She snickered. “Now that's something I'll have to work really hard to do. I can't wait for breakfast tomorrow.”

 

Nathan was, for a change, pissed.

This of course was a complete lie, since he was pissed all the time.

It was eight in the morning and he hadn't had a wink of sleep. He didn't know if it was the residual adrenaline from having pummeled those cowards to a pulp – he deserved a fucking medal, he managed to beat Kieran, Niall and Connor  _on his own_ – although Connor wasn't much of a challenge, he never was – or if it was the anger at them, at Dean, at Jessica, at the fucking charade going on in the drawing room with the Swiss snob and his sister; the fact remained that he hadn't been able to sleep at all. At least he hadn't had to skip dinner – Arran had brought him something to eat during the night. He should have been satisfied, elated even, at his victory, at being finally done with that fucking preppy school, at making Dean red in the face with humiliation and powerlessness. Instead he felt charged with the furious restlessness of a lion in a cage.

Now it was breakfast time and the idea of facing Dean and Jessica shitting on him and on everyone who dared to defend him pissed him off. If he had to witness their revolting attempts at courtship – could you even call what was going on  _courtship_ ? Maybe it was more accurate to call it  _socio-economical_ _deal –_ he might puke. He'd be sure to aim at Jessica.

Speaking of which, not that he had cared much to ask before, but the Swiss suitor was much younger than he had expected. He looked around his age – which meant eight years younger than Jessica. He also looked as polite and proper as a boy sitting with his back perfectly straight and with perfect wavy hair could.

Nathan almost felt sorry for him.

But then he thought how the deal was that if he didn't want Jessica he could still choose Deborah, and he was pissed at the Swiss prick, and he was pissed at Gran for not protecting her, and he was pissed even more than usual at Dean for forcing her into this farce. If Jessica wanted the money and title of a Swiss family, if she wanted a boy toy of a husband, _fine_ , it was disgusting, but _fine_. Nathan didn't care. He did care about Deborah, though, and her boyfriend, David, who was nice and treated her right and who was a carpenter, and thus despised by Dean. The last thing he wanted was to see the Swiss prick trying to hit on Deborah, as he would surely do because only someone completely without self-preservation instinct would choose Jessica if given a choice.

Someone knocked at his door. “Nathan? It's Rose.”

“Who the fuck else could it be? Come in.”

She giggled, and entered his bedroom. She was too used to his charming personality to comment on his words, so she just went straight to business. “Morning news! Dean is pissed at you.”

He gave her his best slasher smile. “How is that news?”

“Well he sounded more pissed than usual. He was shouting at your grandmother loud enough for the entire West wing to hear yesterday evening.”

Nathan scowled. Dean was always careful to sweep any dirt under the carpet, to keep it well away from the staff's ears. For being a notoriously cuckolded husband keeping the bastard son of his wife under his own roof, he was unusually worried about his reputation. After seventeen years of living at Bryn Du, Nathan still didn't know whatever had possessed him to give him his last name. Everyone and their mother knew he wasn't his son. He really didn't like the bit about him screaming at Gran though.

“There was one thing he said that was particularly interesting, at least for us, I think,” Rose said, smirking. “In between the insults to you and your mother, he referenced, and I quote, 'that goddamned agreement I sold my soul with'.”

“I have no idea what that means, Rose.”

“That's what makes it interesting. I've always wondered what reasons Mr Byrn must have had to recognise you as his son. No offense.”

Nathan shrugged. “None taken. I wonder about that too, but Gran's lips are sealed about it and Arran and Deborah have no clue. I don't care enough to find out anyway.”

Rose stared at him, a hint of her dangerous smile ghosting her lips. “I think there was some kind of arrangement, maybe a pre-nup or something of the kind, between the Byrn and the Ashworth families when your mother married. I wouldn't be surprised if it was heavily in favour of your mother. After all, the Ashworths are an ancient family of knights and governors and imperial generals... Do you think they'd try to ensure _any_ heir of Cora would be recognized?”

“How would I know? The only Ashworth who speaks to me is Gran. Which probably also answers your question,” Nathan said, annoyed. “Seriously Rose, don't nose around. You'll end up in trouble.”

She grinned at him, all mischief and delight. “That's rich coming from you.”

“I meant you'll end up fired.”

Her grin grew wider. “That's not the worse thing that could happen now, is it?”

 

When Nathan arrived at breakfast, the room fell silent. He stood at the entrance and scanned the room, taking his time in making Dean and Jessica as uncomfortable as possible, before sitting down near Arran, at the far end on the table.

“Slept well?” his brother asked, passing him the coffee.

He scoffed. “Not at all. What did I miss?”

“Nothing much. Idle talk” Arran said, before bombarding him with his usual Nurturing-Brother-Who-Is-Studying-Medicine questions about his insomnia and sleep patterns. Nathan only half-listened, as he was straining to hear what was being said at the other end of the table. Dean was sitting at the head and Jessica at his right side, like always. The Swiss Guy – he'd have to ask someone for his name at this point – was at his stepfather's left, so he was facing both Jessica and Deborah, who was next to her. At the guy's right was the same girl Nathan had seen the day before, in the drawing room. Who the hell was she? From his seat he could see them both pretty well, and he was starting to notice a certain resemblance. They had the same upturned nose, the same olive skin, but she looked lively and restless where he had a more subdued air. She was talking with Deborah – whatever it was about, Debs looked enthusiastically engaged and Jessica supremely annoyed, which meant the topic could only have Nathan's complete approval. The guy was sipping from a cup and only occasionally chiming in. For being a suitor he looked pretty uninterested in the Byrn sisters. What was his deal?

Then Nathan saw him picking a croissant from a basket, cut it open, put chocolate spread and strawberry jam on it, close it, and _dip it in his cup._

No seriously, what was his deal?

Maybe he felt his stare, because he looked up, met Nathan's eyes, and smiled at him. Nathan couldn't help but notice how his eyes sparkled almost gold in the sunlight bathing the table. He fixed his eyes to his cup filled to the brim with black coffee. What the hell did he want? Get into his good graces? That would _hardly_ help him in his quest for a bride. Anyone who liked Nathan was an enemy in Dean's and Jessica's eyes.

He tried harder to make out what they were talking about. Something about a...sociopath?

“And when she writes, _I am so much happier now that I am dead_? I totally didn't expect that!”

Oh for fuck's sake, they were talking about a book. Typical Debs.

“I must admit, that was my favourite part of the book,” Swiss Guy said. “It was a refreshingly furious speech. It's rare to find so much hate in a female character.”

“So you think hate is refreshing?” Jessica asked.

Nathan snorted loudly in his cup, earning a warning glare from Arran.

The Swiss Guy looked at Nathan as he said, “I think Amy's rage at society's expectations is justified, although her speech also lacks empathy for every other woman, or every other person really, who's in the same situation. After all, she's a sociopath.”

Nathan stared back as he said, “If you think sociopaths are cool you should go for Jessica.”

She snarled, “Look who's talking, you delinquent.”

Then the guy said, still smiling in a way that Nathan was starting to find maddening, “What if I think righteous fury at society is cool?”

_What the fuck is that supposed to mean?_ Nathan thought, staring harder at him. The guy's sister kicked him under the table, and he could swear he heard Rose giggling from the door where she was stationed. “Then I'd tell you to go for Deborah, but I already made myself clear about that, didn't I?”

“Nathan, shut up,” Dean said, glaring at him with his usual sour face.

“No you shut the fuck up Dean. David is a good guy and he loves her.”

Dean seemed ready to throw a fit like he'd usually do, but since he was trying to act civil for his guests' benefit, he just looked like he had swallowed an entire pitcher of lemon juice.

“This David you mentioned,” Swiss Guy said, and everybody stared at him, not expecting him to talk in such a delicate situation, “is Deborah's boyfriend, I assume?”

Nathan didn't hesitate. “Yes, he is.”

The guy turned to Debs and bowed his head slightly, saying, “He's certainly a lucky man. It's too bad for me.”

Deborah blushed. Nathan just felt even more confused.

_What the fuck is going on_ ?

 

That afternoon Arran, Debs, Jessica, Dean, Swiss Guy and Swiss Sister went on a trip to the moors, to the old hunting grounds of Bryn Du – although now it was a nature reserve and public property, and definitely not open for hunting. The moors and woods were still beautiful though, dark and ghostly. Nathan always thought of them as the jaws of a wild animal, full of teeth, closed, but always right on the verge of opening. Of course, he wasn't invited – like hell he was going with them, anyway. Although he really, really wanted to wreck Dean's plans. And by that he meant he wanted to punch him in the face for trying to pry Debs and David apart. It wasn't even that he liked David that much – he did, but they didn't know each other very well in the end – it was a matter of _principle_.

David didn't deserve to be considered trash because he didn't have blue blood – who the fuck cares about that anyway, it wasn't the 14th century anymore.

More importantly, Debs should be free to date whoever the bloody hell suited her fancy because, again, _it wasn't the 14_ _th_ _century anymore!_

And since Gran had noticed him steaming and pacing the corridors like he was itching for a fight – which he was – she had done what she did best. She had given him something physical to do and put him to work with her in the garden. They worked in it all day, between the greenhouse and the various flower-beds and trees dotting the property. By the time the party came back from the moors, Nathan was sweaty and covered in grime up to his elbows. His dark jeans were ripped at the knees, and so his skin was stained green and brown under the holes. He had discarded his Billy Talent t-shirt somewhere at a certain point. Gran had scolded him and told him he'd catch pneumonia (she was a very positive person). When Jessica saw him she sneered and called him a sewer rat. He was about to throw a big chunk of earth at her when Arran deftly stepped between him and his target.

Nathan pouted and left the clod fall. “You're no fun.”

“I'm just doing my duty as a citizen and avoid a diplomatic incident,” Arran said, walking towards him. “Did you lose your shirt?”

“Ah ah ah, very funny. I'm not a weakling like you, April weather is no match for me. I'm practically a viking.”

“Well you certainly look and smell like one.”

Nathan gave him his best mischievous grin before pouncing. He tripped him easily and wrestled him to the ground, then he smeared his grimy hands all over his pristine face. “Shouldn't you know better than to insult me by now, Arran?” he said, batting away his brother's hands when he tried to defend himself. When he was finished, Arran was out of breath from laughing and his face was covered in Nathan's rendition of war paint.

“All right, you had your fun, can I get up now?”

Nathan remained firmly seated on his chest and crossed his arms. “I'm ashamed of you Arran. Don't you know that Politeness Fu can't always help you? Didn't I teach you anything at all?”

“Sure, you taught me to always watch my back from Debs.”

Nathan gasped and scrambled up, but when he turned, his sister wasn't there – she was quite a few paces away, chatting with Swiss Sister. He turned to Arran – who had taken advantage of his distraction to stand up – and growled at him, “You tricked me!”

Arran chuckled. “Will you look at that, the badass punk who got expelled from school is scared of his sweet bookworm sister. Hey Gabriel!” he called, and Swiss Guy turned to him. “Do you think sisters are forces to be reckoned with? Because apparently Nathan is deathly afraid of Deborah.”

Gabriel – so _that_ was the guy's name, but wasn't it a girl's name? It sounded like it anyway – approached them and said with a smile, “Absolutely. I, for one, am deathly afraid of my sister, who has been known to throw plates at me when I displease her.”

Arran laughed at that. Already there was an easy sense of familiarity between him and Gabriel. _Fucking great_ , Nathan thought, with a sudden pang of loneliness jerking in his chest.

“I am not deathly afraid of that viper of Jessica, let alone of Debs,” he said, crossing his arms.

Gabriel grinned. “Oh really? Because I thought I saw you looking for cover when you thought Deborah was behind you.”

“Fuck you.”

Arran paled. Gabriel's grin widened. He looked so bloody pleased with himself, Nathan really wanted to punch him. He was prevented from actually doing it by someone ambushing him and forcing his t-shirt back on.

“Nathan, for heaven's sake! Put a shirt on!” Deborah yelled as she wrestled him into the garment. Arran and Gabriel snickered. Gran grumbled, “If I had tried something like that I'd be covered in bruises by now.”

“Not true!” Nathan said, smoothing the crumpled fabric. “This is one of my favourite t-shirts Debs, if you've torn it...”

She looked at him in worry. “Actually you need a jacket too,” and she started to remove her own coat, a dark green duffle coat. Nathan complained half-heartedly, at which she said, “Oh shush, I'm going inside anyway. See you at dinner, Gabriel.”

She left then, Arran and Gran following her. They immediately started to talk to each other in hushed tones.

Nathan tugged experimentally at the coat's lapels. He wasn't much taller than Debs so the length was all right, but the shape was all wrong; his shoulders didn't fit at all and he couldn't close the second fastening. “This is so stupid,” he said in frustration. “I don't even know why I'm doing this.”

“Because your sister wanted you to?”

Gabriel was looking at him. He was smiling, but it was different from the other smiles Nathan had seen him wear often enough. Gabriel wasn't trying to be polite and play the role of the socialite; he was studying him with an interest like a low-burning fire, warm and hypnotic. Nathan gazed back. He left the coat open. He waited. Why did the Swiss suitor remain behind to chat with him? Dean and Jessica were talking with Gabriel's sister by the patio; the moment they noticed he was talking to their precious prize they'd separate them in an instant.

“I heard you have a beautiful labyrinth here,” Gabriel said. “Can you show me?”

Nathan frowned and nodded in the direction of the patio. “Don't you want to save your sister from my black widow-style relatives?”

The smile never left Gabriel's lips. “She can handle herself very well, believe me. I'd like to talk to you now. I've had enough of Mr Byrn and Jessica for a while.”

Nathan snorted. “Don't I know it. Follow me.”

He led the way to the back of the mansion, where a long strip of lawn led to a smaller building, a good half a mile down the garden. The green patch was decorated by fountains and the dozens different types of flowers Gran tended to. The sides of the property were shaded by thick clusters of trees. Nathan took one of the white gravel paths that led into the woods. Gabriel made small talk, relating the details of his earlier trip to the moors. It was obvious he was trying to coax some kind of response from Nathan, who answered in monosyllables. It was also obvious he wasn't much interested in talking about Nathan's sisters, which confused him just as much as it had at breakfast.

The trees hid the hedge maze well, green on darker green. The entrance was flanked by two statues of Greek goddesses. Gabriel stopped talking – _thankfully –_ to admire it.

“The hedges are really tall,” he said. “Can you get lost in it?”

Nathan smirked. “Only if I leave you behind.”

Gabriel flashed a smirk of his own. “Certainly you wouldn't.”

“Watch me.” He turned then, and said, “Rose, stay.”

Gabriel turned too, surprised to see the bodyguard well hidden between the trees. He hadn't noticed her at all. She giggled as she said, “What, afraid I'll eavesdrop?”

“Not afraid, _certain_. Wait by the entrance.”

“But _Nathan_ ,” Rose said, and she put a scandalized emphasis on his name, “I cannot possibly leave you alone with such a dashing boy! You need a chaperon. Think of your virtue!” She giggled again.

Nathan scoffed. “Shut up and stay there.”

She mock-saluted. “Aye aye. Whatever happens, remember that I warned you.”

Nathan chuckled as he and Gabriel crossed the entrance gate. There was a pond at the center of the maze, circular like its layout. Nathan knew the way like the back of his hand. The labyrinth was one of his favourite places at Bryn Du, perfect to hide without really leaving. He had done that a lot as a child, before he discovered how easy it was to slip through the woods and go to the hills, unnoticed, unfollowed. Making Arran and Debs worry.

Gabriel followed him at a leisurely pace. Bryn Du was always quiet, lost as it was deep in the moors, but inside the maze the silence had a different quality. It was deeper, eerie. When he spoke, it was in a low voice. “I get the feeling you like my presence here even less than Deborah.”

Nathan snorted. “Nothing personal. Not for now, at least.”

“It's a shame she's forced to do this, really. I want you to know, even if I wanted to marry into this family, I wouldn't do this to her.”

Nathan stopped dead in his tracks and turned to him. “Say what?”

Gabriel just gave him one of those maddening smiles of his.

“Why the hell are you here if you don't want to find a fiancée?”

“Family obligations.”

Nathan shook his head, disbelieving, and started to walk again. “Do you understand just how much Dean wants this? You won't leave this place without being engaged, probably to Jessica. Who's not only a royal bitch but eight years your senior. She's going to eat you alive.”

“Seven actually, but that's not the main problem.”

“Oh? Then what is? The fact that she's going to make you sign the most unequal pre-nup in the history of pre-nups?”

Gabriel laughed. “I'm gay.”

Nathan stopped again. And stared. Did he hear that wrong?

Gabriel was smiling, but after a few seconds of tense silence uncertainty seeped through.

Nathan said, “You're gay.”

“Yup.” He didn't look as sure of himself as he had not a few minutes ago. Nathan savoured it for a second. He was pretty sure it wasn't everyday a guy like Gabriel fidgeted, all nervous and unsure.

“Yet your grandmother sent you here. Does she know?”

“I told her. Repeatedly. I reminded her before coming here, too.”

Nathan snickered. “Does Dean know?”

“Probably not.”

This time Nathan laughed. They walked; the central pond was right behind the corner. “So you're gay, your grandmother knows, and yet she thinks it's a good idea to send you to England and get engaged to a woman? Wow, I really don't see how this could go wrong. I'm surprised she didn't send your sister to get engaged to Arran then.”

Gabriel shuddered. “Please don't give me the creeps.”

Nathan snorted. “Now you know how I feel. Well, not about Jessica. I'd drown her in this pond if I could.” He sat down on the stone edge. The water was clear, reflecting the green of the hedges. A statue stood at the center of it – another Greek goddess in a flowing peplum. Gabriel sat down beside him.

 

 

“So what's the reward?” Nathan asked.

“The reward?”

“For marrying Jessica. There must be a reason why you're doing this.”

Gabriel sighed. “I don't expect a reward and I'm not marrying her. I'll probably be engaged to her by the end of my stay whether I want it or not, but no one can sign the marriage certificate for me.”

“I wouldn't bet on that.”

Gabriel laughed.

“No I'm serious. You don't know Jessica and Dean like I know them. Trust me on this one, if you don't want this, run.”

He looked at Nathan then. He seemed to do that a lot – studying him, figuring him out. He looked like he had a million questions right on the tip of the tongue. It was a strange feeling. Nathan was used to be ignored at Bryn Du, and feared at school. No one wanted, or dared to, look at him with such openness. He found himself looking back.

Gabriel said, “My mother is a little fragile, and my grandmother isn't helping matters. She's always blaming her, for everything – from Michèle not being the perfect demure lady to the bad weather” – Nathan chuckled at that – “So for a change, I wanted to relieve the pressure on her a little. I can play along for a while.”

“I bet you're the favourite grandson,” Nathan said with a sneer.

“And what, pray tell, makes you think so?”

“Perfect looks, perfect manners, plays along with her evil schemes...” Nathan searched his face for a reaction, an emotion, a sign of how he really felt about it behind the mask of careful composure. “...Dean would kill for me to be even half as good at it as you are.”

“'It' being...?” Gabriel asked, his expression neutral.

Nathan gestured vaguely in the direction of the mansion. “Playing the part, I guess.”

He saw it again, then; how Gabriel had a lot of questions, but deciding against voicing them yet another time. Instead, he asked, “Do you despise me for it?”

Nathan smirked. “I don't know you, but I know this rotten society of snobs. Who knows what you do when you want to feel like you're not a dancing monkey.”

Gabriel's smirk was slow to blossom, but it matched Nathan's in darkness when it showed. “I have a proposition for you.”

Nathan really, really liked that smirk. “I'm all ears.”

“If I don't run, as you suggested, I'll really end up engaged to Jessica. If I run, my grandmother will be quite displeased. As I see it, this situation has only one solution: I have to make the Byrns call off the arrangement themselves. And it can't be because I was just randomly rude.”

“Because that isn't in your nature?”

Gabriel's smirk grew even darker. “Because that wouldn't be satisfying enough.”

Nathan loved that reasoning. “All right. What are you going to do then?”

“I'm going to ask your help. You seem to hold no love for Jessica nor Dean. I think you'd like the chance to humiliate them – especially Jessica. And I can't think of a better way to humiliate her than to snatch her prey under her nose, in her father's house, where everyone – family and staff – will now.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to date you?”

“I'm asking you to _fake-_ date me.”

Nathan felt a spark of excitement run up his spine. For years he had endured humiliation and abuse at the hands of Jessica and Dean... the idea of humiliating them back for a change was very tempting. What would they think, when they discovered that their charming Swiss suitor was actually much more attracted to him (or, fake-attracted) than to Jessica?

Him, the bastard of the family.

“Unless you're one of those straight guys who are too insecure in their own masculinity to even think about being too close, let alone kiss another guy,” Gabriel said.

Nathan snickered. “Did you really ask me that not knowing whether I am straight or not? Don't you have any self-preservation instinct?”

“I have pretty good _people_ instincts. Was I wrong?”

Nathan held his gaze. He smiled, a little. “No, you weren't. I'm bi. Although I have no idea how you could know that when we have talked maybe half an hour, including this walk.”

“Told you,” Gabriel said, leaning closer, expectation dancing in his eyes, “I have good instincts. So?”

“So, do I want to take part in a probably stupid, definitely reckless plan to wreck my evil step-father and step-sister's own plan?” Nathan asked. A sensible person would have at least asked themselves if pretend-dating a stranger was a good idea.

Nathan wasn't a sensible person.

“Count me in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter in which I reveal myself as the post-modernist trash I am. I quote EVERYTHING and I'm an Umberto Eco fangirl. Ever heard of his "The Prague cemetery"? Yeah. I dig that.  
> The book quoted at breakfast is "Gone girl" by Gillian Flynn. Amy's monologue is fairly famous by now, but if you don't know it I highly suggest you read the book. I assure you, you will devour it.  
> Did I mention this fanfic is heavily influenced by "Wuthering Heights" and "Pride and Prejudice"? Yes? Well.  
> The bit about "grave robbing in a thunderstorm" comes from here: http://englishmajorhumor.tumblr.com/post/74526421789/bratprinces-less-romantic-love-more-romantic.  
> AND, the image is a photo of the maze in the Horta park in Barcelona.  
> What else? Oh yeah. If you ever feel confused because you're just SURE you've read something before that conflicts with the new chapter I posted, but you can't find WHAT changed... I confess. I edit constantly. Especially after I post a new chapter and I realise something I've written before conflicts with it. Obviously I also hope you don't ever, ever realise it.


	3. The list of horrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter in which I realize my knowledge of teen love comedies is actually abysmal. Dishonour on my family and my cow? I had to improvise.  
> Someone, whose name shall remain secret (it begins with M and ends in ARITA), asked for at least a kiss in this chapter. So you get that.

Gabriel couldn't stop thinking about Nathan Byrn.

His mind kept going back to the same image, no matter how hard he tried to think of something else: Nathan, sitting on the pond's stone ledge, draped in a dark green coat that was just so perfect for his olive skin and dark hair. Nathan, watching him with such an intensity Gabriel still felt sparks in his blood. Those eyes were a wonder. Black as obsidian and just as hard, they had sucked him in and left him breathless. He had felt like a castaway at the mercy of a maelstrom, and _he wanted more_.

Nathan, who had accepted to pretend-date him in order to humiliate his step-sister and anger his step-father. If Gabriel had known coming to Bryn Du would have led to _this_ , he would have accepted sooner. Hell, he would have volunteered. Two weeks of fooling around with such a beauty? He was going to enjoy this _so much_.

It was nearly midnight, the manor quiet and the lights dim to the point of almost darkness. After the long walk in the moors, everyone had retired for the night quite early. Michèle was sound asleep in the adjacent room; Gabriel was listening for steps outside the door. He was draped on the couch, faking interest in a book. He had been careful to switch on the lamp most visible through the windows from outside; the curtains were double layered, and he had left the heaviest open. A giddy sort of thrill danced under his skin at the thought of staging a vigil, a secret encounter. It was silly, of course, but he couldn't deny it was fun. How many bodyguards were patrolling the manor's perimeter? Would they notice the shadow creeping through the corridors, reaching his bedroom? Would that girl, Rose, notice?

Gabriel turned a page, as silent as he could, careful to breathe without a sound. Yet, when the faintest of knocks came at his door, he hadn't heard a single step. He even doubted the knock, for a moment, before rising and opening it. Even in the dimness of the sleeping manor, Nathan's eyes were dark and glinting like a starry night.

“I didn't hear you at all,” Gabriel whispered in amazement.

Nathan smirked. “I'm very good at sneaking around. Years of experience.” He looked around then, checking the corridors. “Better to go before Rose notices I'm gone.”

Gabriel switched the lamp off and followed him. Even that close, he couldn't hear his steps at all; he had a cat's graceful silence. “Do you think she followed you?”

“Who knows,” Nathan murmured. “I waited until she went to sleep but she could have heard me. Half of the time I don't even see her but she'll be there, watching. She's fucking good.”

Gabriel thought of that afternoon, of how she had been hiding in the trees by the maze and he hadn't had a clue. “That makes her look more like a jailer than a bodyguard.”

Nathan turned to him. He wasn't smirking anymore.

He didn't say anything, just guiding Gabriel through the silent corridors, up a grand staircase and then a few little stairwells. Gabriel couldn't help but notice the walls becoming bare, the tapestries and paintings becoming rarer as they ascended, grandeur and luxury melting away in favour of simplicity and practicality. He recognized the change in layout; it was the same as the ancient _ch_ _â_ _teau_ his family owned in Switzerland. They were in the old servants' quarters, at the opposite of the main wing – where his room was located, and where Nathan's half-siblings' rooms were located too.

This was getting ridiculous, and it had just stopped being funny. He could understand animosity and even contempt in a family – his own wasn't a stranger to either – but this level of scorn looked like something out of a medieval novella. Or a tragic backstory worthy of a Hugo book.

They reached a landing in almost complete darkness. Gabriel guessed they were on the last floor – he could make out the wooden beams of the roof not much higher up. Nathan opened the door, ever so careful to be silent, and ushered him in. He then lit up a small lamp in a corner. They were in what seemed like a recently-remodelled attic, with 3 big skylights and a huge window on the farthest side, overlooking a side of the garden and some treetops. Gabriel was surprised for a second; he had half-expected a gloomy, dingy place, but he was more than happy to be wrong. The walls were a light colour – probably cream, but it was hard to say in the low light – which contrasted nicely with the dark of the wooden beams. The room had a couch, a low table with some big cushions scattered around it, a king-sized bed with an impressive wood and wrought iron frame, and a hi-fi system with the biggest CD library Gabriel had ever seen. On the far side, under the window, was a drawing table surrounded by precariously-piled art books, jars full of water and brushes and a few easels covered by stained cloths. Although that corner was chaotic, the rest of the room was pretty neat. The only touch that screamed “teenager” was the wall by the bed, covered in band posters. Now _that_ wasn't surprising at all.

He was curious to know what kind of music Nathan liked. He had been wearing a Billy Talent t-shirt that afternoon – it wouldn't be surprising if he was a punk fan, either.

“That's an impressive collection you have there,” Gabriel murmured, nodding to the CDs. “And I like the shelves.” They were arranged asymmetrically, like they were made of different modules and then bunched together at random. The ensemble was pretty artistic.

“Thanks. I made them myself.”

“Really?”

Gabriel got a closer a look, and noticed that what looked like simple wooden shelves were actually drawers, wine crates, even window frames, all of different sizes, nailed together to create a unique piece of organized chaos. He turned to Nathan, who was stoically trying to hide a pleased smile.

“They're beautiful,” he said, admiration lacing his voice. “You're the creative type I see.”

Nathan crossed his arms on his chest and looked anywhere but at Gabriel. He was so obviously flattered and just as obviously unable to take the compliment, Gabriel felt the urge to shower him in praise, just to see how he would react. Would he blush? Was he blushing now? Damn it, the light was too low in this room.

Nathan sat down on one of the cushions and gestured for Gabriel to do the same. “So,” he said, watchful gaze trained on him.

Gabriel hid a smile the best he could. The combination between the dimness of the room and the broody intensity on his face made Nathan's features look even more striking. The shadows complimented his dark hair and complexion well, clinging to him like they were made of the same substance. Yet his eyes gleamed, blacker than the darkness, blacker than dark stars burning in a distant, unreachable abyss. Gabriel unconsciously leaned forward with the gravitational pull of them, drinking in the sight, turning to his darkness like a sunflower to the sun.

It could have been a scene worthy of a Romantic novel, indeed – if only they'd been there to muse upon the human condition, or smoke opium, or both. Instead, Nathan had invited him there to plot how they were going to wreck Gabriel's soon-to-be engagement to Jessica.

“So?” Gabriel said. He enjoyed needling him already.

“Are you still sure about this plan?” He didn't sound unsure, or doubtful, though. More like... cautious. Like he was circling around Gabriel, watchful. Assessing.

“Of course. I wouldn't propose something like that, only to back out right after.”

Nathan stayed silent at that. Gabriel was just realizing how poignant, how meaningful his silences were. They were punctuation marks in sentences made more of glances and gestures than words.

And what did this silence, this dark expression mean?

“Then...” Nathan said, voice still low in the event that Rose was awake and listening, “...what are we gonna do, exactly?”

Gabriel grinned. “I was hoping you'd ask.”

 

“You are _completely_ crazy, Gabriel.”

Gabriel grin was filled with mischief and glee. “I don't see why we shouldn't have fun while we're at it. How many people get to plan their relationship to the last detail?”

They were sitting at the coffee table, hunched over a sheet of paper and a jar of felt tips scattered all over already. Gabriel had titled the page as _The List_ in bright red. He had drawn little hearts around it. And he was now filling said list with every teenage romance cliché known to mankind. And those terrible, sickly-sweet, _gag-worthy_ clichés were supposed to be the script of their fake relationship. Nathan had insisted on adding _Of Horrors_ in dramatic black sharpie to the title.

“Even if I agreed to this, and I don't, we can't possibly do all of this,” Nathan said, stabbing the list with his finger. “And we're supposed to make it look like we're keeping it silent! How is 'hold a boombox blasting cheesy 80s pop under Nathan's window'keeping it silent? And why _my_ fucking window?”

“You didn't watch many 80s romantic comedies, did you?” Gabriel asked.

“ _Why the fuck would I ever..._ ” Nathan started to say, but then he noticed just how amused Gabriel looked.

“It was supposed to be a funny quote. I swear I'm not coming to your window with a boombox.”

Nathan scowled. Gabriel looked even more amused at that.

“Do you have objections to anything else?”

Nathan glanced at the list and faked a quick revision (how many things were _fake_ already in this arrangement?). Notable examples, as read by Gabriel while he was writing them, included:

  * sneaking out during the night to go to a club ( _well, that was technically easy, Nathan had been sneaking out at night for years now_ )

  * convincing the staff they have walked in on them just in time to ruin a make-out session; better if repeatedly ( _WELL_ )

  * making stupid eyes at each other ( _for fuck's sake Gabriel_ )

  * wearing each other's clothes 'by accident' ( _okay...?_ )

  * reading poetry out loud ( _FOR FUCK'S SAKE GABRIEL_ )




“I don't see how this will help,” Nathan said, but a smile was tugging at the corner of his lips. Gabriel had taken the original idea and run wild with it – quite literally. The list was fucking long. And, if Nathan was honest with himself – which he was not going to be with Gabriel – quite amusing, too.

“We have to make it realistic,” Gabriel said, peering into his eyes again, as he had been doing since the maze. Studying him. Figuring him out. A strange hot chill grasped at a place behind Nathan's sternum. He didn't know how he felt about this friendly boy who hid his thoughts behind a smile and was looking at him with such attentiveness.

“How is this making it realistic?” Nathan countered. He pointed to a random item on the list as he said, “'Making the other jealous by ignoring him in favour of a girl, possibly Rose and/or Michèle'?” He shot him an unimpressed look. “Seriously?”

“Well, one of us has to be an arsehole. It's all the rage lately,” Gabriel said, shrugging.

Nathan shot him a deadpan stare.

Gabriel looked like he was having the time of his life. “I mean, a little drama would be expected. What's a fake relationship without a proper fake break-up and make-up?”

Nathan said, slowly and unblinking, “And that's your idea of 'realistic'.”

“It's realistic according to people's expectations of what we'd do if we were dating. We're teenagers after all. Or at least, you a--- ” Gabriel's sentence melted into a half-laughter half-groan of pain as Nathan grabbed him into a chokehold. He was putting way more effort into ruffling his perfect hair though – hit 'em where it hurts the most and all that.

“You don't get to bully me because you're one year older than me, you got that?”

Gabriel didn't even try to free himself, opting for laughing quietly. “I guess this kind of show would work wonderfully too. Guys being dudes, just two bros showing their love for each other. Totally not suspicious.”

Nathan ruffled his hair harder until it was all over Gabriel's face and into his eyes. “We have to trick my family too, and they'd expect me to be of the tough love variety for sure. You'll get a whole fucking lot of this.”

Gabriel tried and failed to blow away a strand of hair that had landed in his nose. He began, “I can barely contain my ex---” before sneezing. Loudly. They both fell still and silent, watching the door. Wondering if Rose could hear them from her room down the landing, wondering if she was even there at all. Because if there was one thing Nathan knew about the girl, it was that she did what she wanted, when she wanted, following an agenda all of her own. Or at least, an agenda that wasn't decided inside the walls of Bryn Du.

No sound came from the landing. Nathan relaxed, then sighed. “I don't even know why we care about her knowing. Isn't she part of the plan? Shouldn't we trick her too?”

Gabriel tried to put his hair back into some semblance of order. “Well, yes. But I think it would be better if we controlled the moment in which she thinks she knows.” Ho looked up at Nathan, who was still holding him. “Do you think we can play her?”

Nathan thought about it after releasing him. Rose was around him all the time; she would probably be the first one to notice. But would she also notice it was all faked? And if she did, what would she do? Nathan could count on her not being under Dean's influence, but that didn't mean she was on his side. Not by a long shot. Then again, this wasn't the kind of matter that interested Rose. It was just the umpteenth time Nathan tried to piss his step-father off – just in a more entertaining way...He looked at Gabriel, who returned his gaze, waiting patiently for an answer.

...and not alone.

“I think she's gonna know the moment we do anything. She knows everything that goes on in this house. But I think we can trick her into thinking we're genuine.” He frowned. “But she's really gonna know at once. She's gonna know about you being here too, so it's better if we start right away.”

Gabriel looked thoughtful. “You mean we should start tomorrow.”

“Why wait? Besides, you're not staying here forever.”

Gabriel didn't say anything for a few seconds, just twirling a sharpie between his fingers. “Jokes aside, there are some practical things we have to address before we get this going.”

“Oh? Like what?”

Gabriel leaned in, slowly, a little hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Nathan stiffened, muscles locked cold at the proximity, chest hot with the understanding of what Gabriel was doing. If he was blushing, Gabriel didn't say anything. He just kept their eyes locked as he paused, barely a breath left between them. Nathan didn't move out of sheer stubbornness. What was Gabriel doing? Was he messing with him? Was this a test? Was this the point in which he realized how laughably inexperienced Nathan was? Fuck, he was _so close_ Nathan could feel his breath, still warm, brushing his own face. He could see how long his eyelashes were, how they framed his eyes. Unwavering eyes the colour of harvest in late summer,  golden and earthy and glowing. He wanted to look away; he wanted to stare into them until their warmth seeped into his blood, down to his bones.

 

Gabriel's heart fluttered at the sight of Nathan so shy and stubborn – he could still see the boy with blood on his knuckles in the way he refused to back away even one inch. He stiffened and scowled at him when he leaned in, as if daring him to move closer; but even in the low light Gabriel could tell his ears were red. He wondered if Nathan was at all aware of how adorable he looked, if he knew the punk clothes and death glares couldn't hide it – if anything, they enhanced it. Or at least, they did in Gabriel's eyes. He couldn't help but a smile a little. Nathan's gaze fell to his lips, and Gabriel's breath, just for that handful of seconds, was stolen. Nathan looked up then, and crossed his arms, shoulders hunched forward as if readying for a fight.

He was a study in contradictions.

Gabriel leaned back, but just a little. Already he liked the proximity far too much, liked to soak in the intensity of those eyes, deep and devouring as a starless night.

“As per the list, we have to get _accidentally_ ” – he stressed the word, aiming for playful, trying to keep things light and easy – “be caught kissing.”

Nathan's scowl seemed to hide a lot of things. Shyness, to be sure – a surprising abundance of it. But also other things Gabriel was sure it was too early to address. What did Nathan Byrn, unwanted child of a divided family, learn about trust and care and gentleness in that mansion where he was confined to the old servants' quarters?

It was unsurprising how much he looked like a wild animal offered food, both hungry and distrustful, hopeful and circumspect, circling around the offerer in wide, slow circles.

“Well,” Gabriel said when Nathan kept silent, “I was thinking a little practice before diving right in would do us good, but now I think I have to ask something else before that.”

“Such as?”

“Are you comfortable with it?”

Nathan flustered. “With what, kissing? Do you think I'm fourteen?”

Gabriel tilted his head slightly. “That too, but I meant more with the whole letting another person into your personal space thing. I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

He didn't acknowledge the very specific age Nathan mentioned – he surely filed it for later mention though – nor his obvious embarrassment.

Nathan stared at him silently for a while longer, shoulders more and more hunched forward in what looked like a very convincing impression of an angry hedgehog curling into his spikes, at least in Gabriel's opinion. Then he said, “Are you comfortable with the idea of kissing a complete stranger?”

Although basically true, the question unsettled Gabriel in a way he didn't expect. “You're not a complete stranger to me, Nathan,” he murmured, sounding lame even to himself; but Nathan's scowl let up for a moment, and his eyes travelled around the room, restless.

“I mean...” he started, then stopped. Gabriel waited, expectant in spite of himself. “I mean okay, maybe I don't have a great experience in the area, certainly not as much as you.”

Gabriel grinned. “I am by no means an expert.”

Nathan shot him a look that spelled _Are you shitting me?_ as clear as day.

“It's true, I swear. I've only ever kissed one person, actually.”

“What kind of lame references those are? I thought you were an expert,” Nathan said, pushing his shoulder playfully.

“I may not be an expert but I'm a very accommodating person. I like to please.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Gabriel laughed. “It means I like to listen to people. I'd try my best to learn what you like best.”

“Weirdest pick up line ever,” was Nathan's scathing retort, but it held no bite.

“What about the other part?” Gabriel asked, and he was met with a puzzled look.

“What part?”

“The part about personal space being a potential issue.”

“Oh, _that_ part,” Nathan said deliberately slow, smirking. “That's not going to be a problem.”

“No?” Gabriel said, a little louder and a lot less gracefully than he had intended to.

Nathan's smirk grew wicked. He was obviously pleased to defy Gabriel's expectations. “If there is one thing I never had growing up, it was personal space. Debs and Arran always made sure I didn't have any.” His smirk softened at the mention of the siblings, and it was in a fond tone that he continued. “I guess you could say I'm the cuddly type once I warm up to someone.”

_Now that's something I really look forward to see_ , Gabriel thought, delighted.

“So.”

Gabriel chuckled. “So.”

Nathan's gaze fell to his lips again, but he was still locked in place, waiting for Gabriel's next move.

“I'm not going to kiss you until you tell me I can, Nathan,” he said, words barely more than a whisper. He strangely felt like he was in a church, hushed tones and reverent gestures floating in the semi-darkness, as required in the presence of the divine.

Nathan's eyelids lifted slowly, in silence. “So respectful.”

“Absolutely,” Gabriel said, sombre.

Nathan smiled at his seriousness; Gabriel was so pleased with that he could have almost missed how his features softened then, how a distance that had been there before simply vanished.

Almost.

“Let's see how you kiss, then, Gabriel,” he said, the tips of his ears flaring red again. “And since you're such a people-pleaser, I'll boss you around and tell you...”

Gabriel shifted on the cushion and got closer...

“...how to do it to really...”

He brought a hand to his jawline, gently cupping his face...

“... _please_...”

No more than a whisper between their lips...

“... _me_...”

And then their lips touched.

Eyes closed and cheeks on fire, Nathan had not expected the fingers curling behind his ear, and instinctively leaned into the touch. Gabriel moved slowly, kisses light and tender like spring raindrops. He was cautious, listening and feeling for Nathan's reactions with his lips, his fingertips, his skin; until he felt him move forward and open his mouth, unafraid and hungry and hot, and every sliver of conscientiousness burned away like straw to a match. The kiss turned into something confusing and obliterating, leaving only feeling in its wake, scorching Gabriel's mind white and clean.

Nathan wasn't at all shy as he had seemed. One hand found Gabriel's hair, demanding fingers pulling at his scalp; yet his lips and tongue moved with languid slowness. In his own way, he was studying Gabriel's responses too; he felt his breath catch when he put his other hand on his knee. More than focusing on the kiss, Nathan was reading the patterns Gabriel's hands wrote on his face and neck, deciphering the gentleness of his touches – and that was why, distracted as he was, he ended up clashing their teeth.

Nathan turned his head and half-groaned, half-giggled in embarrassment. “Well that was awkward.”

Gabriel let out a breathy chuckle of his own. “That was something, if you ask me. Calm down, tiger,” he said, but there was a delighted kind of mirth in his words. His cheeks were flushed, and when he raised his hand to Nathan's face again, he was glowing with the sweet, quiet warmth of a summer twilight. There was something open in his expression that Nathan hadn't seen before.

“Can I?” Gabriel asked, holding his fingers close, but not quite touching him yet.

Nathan had a vague sense he wasn't just asking for a kiss again, but for something else. “Sure,” he said in a whisper.

Gabriel combed his fingers through his hair before cupping his neck. His thumbs stroked Nathan's earlobes as he kissed him again. He was less cautious now, more demanding in the way he held Nathan's face tilted up and in place. Nathan allowed it, and let himself be guided this time. It wasn't an easy thing to do; something in him, something hardened, resisted at such a diligent, consistent show of respect. At the same time, something in him desperately craved to bask in it, with the same watchful abandonment of a cat soaking in the sunlight, eyes closed in contentment but ready to bolt at the slightest disturbance.

Nathan was dimly aware of his own stillness, of how his hands were lying limp at his sides, both out of a relaxed sort of sluggishness and awkward uncertainty at what to do with them. He decided to put one on Gabriel's chest, mostly just not to lie there like some virginal maiden. Gabriel jumped.

Nathan, startled, leaned back a little and stared at him. Then he burst out laughing, all the time trying to muffle sound and almost choking with the attempt.

“I'm sorry, am I supposed to be perfectly still every time we do this? Because it's the second time you get spooked like that.”

Gabriel tucked a lock of hair behind an ear, looking embarrassed. “It's just that I never see it coming.” When he looked at Nathan, it was with a sly grin. “You're surprising like that.”

They stayed silent for a while then, still comfortably close, knees touching.

“Think you're gonna be able to bear me invading your personal space all the time?” Nathan asked, with a sarcastic little grin of his own.

“Actually, I think I'm going to enjoy that greatly.”

 

It was a while before either of them decided it was time to get Gabriel back to his room. After their first two botched attempts at kissing – and a few others that equally ended in choked laughter and flushed cheeks – they had opted for more mundane ways of building up their acquaintance, by exploring Nathan's impressive collection of CDs. Unsurprisingly, he listened mostly to punk music – Billy Talent was his favourite – with a dash here and there of hard rock, industrial rock – a gentleman doesn't comment on the presence of Nine Inch Nails' _The Downward Spiral_ in someone's musical library – and, surprisingly, all of Enya's albums (when questioned about it, Nathan had stared blankly at him and said “What, like I can't like her?” Gabriel didn't know how he had managed not to pry. Probably because it had been clear any further inquiry would have just ruined the mood).

And why ruin such an excellent mood, indeed?

They crept through the corridors, as dark and deserted as they had been before that night. Nathan led Gabriel by a hand – the latter had insisted on it. For realism's sake, he had said. They reached the guests' rooms without alerting anyone with their whispers and half-chuckles.

Once there, Gabriel tried to convince him to wreck the next programmed trip by tagging along.

“You must think I'm either stupid or suicidal. I'm not coming. Not even to save your sorry ass.”

“I'll pay you?”

“I'm incorruptible.”

“State your price. Money? CDs? My eternal gratitude?”

“No fucking way I'm putting up with the combined nastiness of Dean _and_ Jessica for an entire day. And for future reference, the only way to maybe have a chance with me is by offering unlimited quantities of hot chocolate. With marshmallows.”

“Lots of them?”

“A mountain of them. Which reminds me.” He paused, looking at Gabriel. He opened his mouth again, then closed it. Gabriel waited, impatient and dying to know what he was going to say, but trying hard to stay calm.

Finally, Nathan spoke. “You said you like climbing, right?”

“Yes,” Gabriel rushed to say.

“Well, I know a really good place, up north, in Snowdonia. It's over a cliff. I've been told it's good for climbing. You wanna see it?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said, slowly this time, happiness blooming in his voice. “I'd like that.”

“Cool,” Nathan said, looking at the ground to hide a little pleased smile.

 

 


	4. The "Protect Nathan And Gabriel's Budding Romance At All Costs" Squad

There was something annoying in the air. Gabriel groaned, rolled on his other side. He flapped an arm weakly over the bedside table. The annoying thing left. He snuggled under the covers again, happily returning to their warmth and to the sluggish half-dreams half-thoughts they provided. He floated in their gentle sea, made of obsidian eyes, flashes of a sharp-toothed grin, a wolf prowling a dark, deep forest, misty moors dotted with haunted mansions...

The annoying thing returned. This time Gabriel was faster; he knew where to find it. He shot his arm out, and tapped it away. He didn't even wake up. He knew the mansions were haunted with the certainty of dreams; he could hear the tapping of bare ghostly feet on their ancient wooden flo---

Something jumped on his chest and squeezed all the air out of his lungs in a startled gasp.

“Oh hell no Gabriel, wake up!”

“Michèle, do you have to?” he moaned in misery.

“Yes I do, or you'll just snooze your phone for the next hour or so.”

He groaned loudly. Then, his sister still perched on his chest, he grabbed clumsily his smartphone. He swiped it and saw it was 8:32 in the morning.

“How many times did I snooze it?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. They felt sore and puffy.

“Like, a million times or something. I didn't count.” She swatted his hands away and peeled his eyelids open, ignoring his weak protests. “Are you okay? Your eyes are red.”

“I'm fine, I'm fine. Just tired,” he said, closing them again.

Michèle pinched him in the side, making him jump in shock. “No you don't! Come on Gabriel, we have to get down for breakfast and then go to the Ashworths' castle, remember?”

He moaned in misery again. He had the feeling he was going to do that a lot today. “An entire day dodging Mr Byrn's advances done in Jessica's place? I can't wait.”

After his sister climbed off him, he sat up. He stared blearily ahead for a couple of seconds, picturing just how wonderful the day was going to be. Why couldn't he find a way to stay at Bryn Du instead? Fake a cold, or a fever, or _something_ , anything that would allow him to avoid this trip... and coincidentally, remain right where Nathan was.

She peered into his eyes. “No seriously, what's wrong with you? You look dead.”

He sighed. “I didn't get much sleep.” Michèle's eyes followed him as he got up and fetched a fresh change of clothes from the suitcase open on the floor. He went to the bathroom, but his sister was relentless when she wanted answers out of him. She leaned against the closed door as he stripped, tied his hair in a knot, and hopped into the shower.

“Is it something to do with our stay here?” she asked. “I'm sure it won't be so bad. We'll just have to laugh at Mr Byrn as much as we can.” Her wording was that of an affirmation, but her voice curled upwards in the end, as though she was dubious, as though she was asking a question. Gabriel smiled to himself as the hot water washed away the last dregs of sleep clinging to his limbs. Should he tell her why he had had so little sleep? Or should he be mysterious about it, making her suffer a little? He thought of what Nathan had said, of how they should start right away with their Evil Scheme – because Rose was bound to know much sooner than what they expected.

Rose. What a peculiar bodyguard. Her giggles didn't hide how lethal she most definitely was. And the way she shadowed Nathan everywhere, without being seen... Gabriel remembered the look on Nathan's face when he had suggested she was more of a jailer than a bodyguard. It was a look that held exhaustion, and stubbornness, the cold fury of a caged and wounded beast who knew it was over and yet still fought and drew blood, still hoping for an opening, against all odds. Gabriel knew it was best never to meddle into aristocratic families' secrets. But his heart ached already at all those little things he had noticed; things that meant Nathan wasn't always safe and happy in his own home – probably not ever.

Gabriel put his forehead on the tiles and sighed. Two days. He had known Nathan Byrn for two days.

If he had been _only_ incredibly handsome – with those dark devouring eyes and that wild strength in his limbs – or _only_ unbelievably cute – with that grumpy scowl and easy blush – Gabriel might have stood a chance. But not only he was  both, _putain_ , he was also treated with an unfairness that made Gabriel desire to just...

He sighed again, louder.

...to just make him happy.

And loved.

Shit.

He turned the shower off and as he dried off and put on his clothes, he repeated to himself, not for the first time in the last few hours, that he had to keep his feet firmly on the ground. He had to focus on what was to be done, and do it well, or he could get in serious trouble with _mamie_. It wasn't a matter of pleasing her – that he could care less about – but of making her mad enough at the Byrns to not care about the fact that he wasn't going to marry. She was a creature of spite. She could forget all about the engagement and be happy to haughtily hate someone new – and forget to be angry at his mom for a second or two.

Yeah. The problem with that plan was, it suddenly seemed like nothing more than a diversion. A prologue. Him going through dull, boring motions, until Nathan blew in on the scene with blood on his knuckles and a smile full of sharp teeth and everything suddenly blazed to life. He was the only interesting character in this farce of anachronistic and ridiculous lines.

And Gabriel, who had been looking at the barely-lit scene, had been blinded, and he was now the notorious moth too close to the flame.

And the biggest problem was, he was enjoying it way too much.

When he opened the bathroom's door, Michèle was there, ready to fuss over him.

“Are you ill? Do you feel not so good? I'm sure you can be excused for a day,” she said, putting her hands on his shoulders and trying to see in the sheen of his eyes if he was feverish.

He chuckled. “I'm fine, Michèle, really. It's just...”

She listened with great care. “Yes?”

Gabriel stayed silent a few seconds more, savouring her expectant and worried expression, savouring even more the one that was coming. Then he said, “It's just, it's going to be a very long day without Nathan, after last night.”

Oh yes. Her expression was _priceless_.

Then she shrieked.

 

When the cold light of dawn had began to seep into his room, Nathan had been awake already, like most of days. He knew better than try to fall asleep again – not that it ever worked. He got up and went through his usual routine until it was time to annoy the shit out of Dean by popping up for breakfast. He did some stretching, then press-ups and sit-ups and all the other usual exercises, then he showered. Actually, there _was_ something different in the routine. He didn't go for a run, because he liked to do it properly and that took time, and he wanted to go downstairs as soon as possible.

To see Gabriel.

Was he a morning person? Would he be ready for breakfast soon or not? He had been already there when Nathan had come down the day before – spreading the most unbelievable combination of things on his croissants. He snorted at the memory. You'd think a Swiss aristocrat with perfect manners and a charming smile would have less childish eating habits.

Nathan looked at his digital alarm. The big numbers and display made it easier to read it, but it still took him a little. He still had around half an hour to wait before the breakfast table was readied. He looked around, until his eyes fell on the easels in the corner. He never closed the skylight right in front, so the area was bathed in pale light. He walked to the smallest canvas and lifted the rag covering it. It was a project for his Art class at school. Funny how his professor would never see it now. It was too bad; Art was the only class he enjoyed. But it wasn't the first time he got expelled, and it wasn't the first time an Art teacher was the only one who would maybe miss him a little.

He could always finish it for Bob. He smiled to himself. Bob always liked to see his paintings - even years after Nathan had been expelled from the school where he taught. That had been Nathan's first expulsion. He had been twelve. Some people are just precocious like that.

He sat down on the stool in front of the painting. He gazed at it, letting the feel of it come back to him, but gently. Coldly. He wanted to remain detached from it for now. He focused on the greens and blacks of the background, on the strokes left by the painting knife. He liked the pasty, thick quality of it. It was crude, rough, and coarse. He touched the ridges left in the paint with his fingers. He looked at the unfinished figure in the centre, its whites and reds. He paused, hand barely touching the canvas. He tried to remain detached.

He couldn't.

He kicked the easel with all his strength, making it fly and hit the wall.

He bent on the stool and took his head in his hands.

He couldn't. He just couldn't.

What the fuck had he been thinking, painting _her_?

He was stuck. He couldn't finish it. He didn't want to finish it. Finishing meant remembering, remembering her face, remembering he had trusted her, and then he hadn't, but he was supposed to trust her, he was supposed to open up, she was supposed to help, that's what therapists do, and it was all in his head he had to open up more and more and more until she was in his head and she could tear him to shreds and he didn't even know what was him and what was the drugs and what was her.

He looked up at the canvas lying on the floor.

Whoever said painting was therapeutic was full of bullshit.

He sat there for a while. Then he got up and picked up the easel, propping it up. Then he took the canvas. He looked at it again. It was just an unfinished painting. Her face wasn't even there.

Her.

The Ugly Witch from Hell.

Yet the fear crushing his throat was always the same.

He put the canvas on the easel and covered it again.

He took a deep, shuddering breath.

 _Focus on the positive_ , he told himself. He closed his eyes. He made himself remember the day it ended. It was over. That was positive. Arran had hugged him. That was positive too. He still felt his arms around him, warm and caring. He had cried freely for the first time in fuck knows how long, knowing Arran would never judge.

“I believe you,” Arran had said. “I'll always believe you.”

That was very positive.

He sighed. Then he looked at the door. He had made such a racket, he was surprised no one was there. Like Rose. Or Gabriel.

...except Gabriel was staying in the Real Byrns Only wing, on the opposite side of the manor, so of course he couldn't have heard anything.

Nathan sat on the stool again and picked up a sketchbook. He opened it to a blank page and let the emptiness of the white clean his mind. It was probably better to calm down before going to breakfast. He had been awake for, what, less than an hour? And he had lost his shit already. Not good. He picked up a soft pencil and sketched idly, not thinking too much. At first, he was sort of trying to get Arran's profile by memory; but then his hand started to wander, and the lines that should have been his straight, short hair became wavy and long. Nathan paused. He flipped to a new page and began again. It was good to just let the pencil do its own thing. He didn't have to think. He just had to let it happen.

It was a rough drawing, all black lines crammed one on top of the other. Yet it was unmistakably Gabriel.

Nathan flipped to yet another page. He recalled the usual silence of the labyrinth, the shadows under the hedges, the pond. He drew Gabriel how he remembered him that late afternoon, in the amber light of early twilight: smiling, soft-spoken, and mischievous. Not exactly open – Nathan knew a smooth-talker when he saw one, and smooth-talkers are never forthcoming with personal details. Which was fine with him. The last thing he wanted was to swap depressing stories with a near stranger.

He felt his face flame. Can you call “stranger” the person you practised making out with for fuck knows how long? Just thinking about it made him want to hide in his bed, or do it again right the fuck now, or giggle in embarrassment. Sure it had been a little awkward in the beginning, _but then_. He had kissed before – okay, only one person ever, but it still counted – but with Gabriel it had been... _different_. It had been a little like being back in the labyrinth. Gabriel was still reading him, with the same earnest intent. Only, this time he had been studying on his skin and lips instead.

And, fuck, he was a fast learner, Nathan had to give him that.

“Now that's an expression I have _never_ seen before.”

He almost jumped out of his skin and rushed to close and hide the sketchbook – too bad the only thing he had to hide it with was his own body, and the sketchbook itself was as wide as his arm was long.

“Rose!” he yelled, breathless. “Fucking knock or something!”

She giggled, _of fucking course_. “And losing that perfect opportunity? Please.” She walked closer with the grace of a runway model, or a panther, or both. Nathan wasn't an expert in the difference.

“Stay the fuck away Rose.”

“What are you drawing?”

“Nothing.”

“It didn't look like _nothing_ from that stupid smile you had there.”

“Fuck you.”

“With you needing my constant attention? I hardly have the time.”

“Why don't you take a vacation then? Starting now?”

“You can be a salty bitch all you want, I can see you're red in the face and just trying to distract me.”

Nathan really wanted to find something witty to say. The only thing he came up with was a groan.

“Does it have anything to do with the Swiss prince visiting you in the middle of the night, by any chance?”

Nathan sobered at that. He had been right after all; no point in even trying to hide things from Rose. Now came the tricky part. Nathan didn't consider himself exceptionally good at lying – maybe it was the effect of being around Arran all the time, since he was so bad at telling lies it could very well be contagious; or maybe it was the effect of loathing Jessica and her spinning lies like a black widow spins her web and hating the very idea of being even remotely like her.

But if there was something Nathan was good at, it was being a stormy and uncooperative wall of silence, and let everybody take their guesses.

Rose studied him with a critical eye. She stepped forward and into his personal space, bending over him until their noses almost touched, and she let the silence dangle between them. Nathan scowled at her. When she straightened up, she looked as delighted as a schoolgirl entrusted with a new sweet piece of gossip.

“My, Nathan, I did not see that coming at all. You clever, clever devil.”

His scowl deepened. Letting people take their guesses always meant he was painted as the worst possible character. But he had learned it could be useful sometimes.

“Is this your devious plan to get back at Jessica? Shaming her under her own roof by eloping with her prey?”

Nathan snorted. “You said that right, she's gonna eat him alive.”

“And you're going to save him from her evil clutches?”

Nathan gave her the silent treatment again. Letting her come up with whatever explanation she liked. In his experience, that was the only explanation it ever mattered to anyone.

She giggled again, fingers curled at her lips in a coy display. “I never even knew you were interested in boys. You're full of surprises.”

Nathan stood up and walked to the window. On the sill was a lighter. Nathan didn't smoke anymore, but the lighter always sat there.

“Although I must admit it's not that surprising. What is surprising is that you found someone you'd look twice at. Or is this really just motivated by your hate for Jessica?”

Rose, used to his stretches of silence, talked on. Maybe she thought she was filling in the blanks. Maybe she humoured him and his delusion of playing her. Who knew. Who knew anything about Rose, really, save for Mercury.

Nathan threw the windowpanes open. He flipped through the sketchbook next, carefully shielding it, back to Rose. He ripped out the two sketches of Gabriel.

“Because that, Nathan, would be really terrible.” A giggle. “Fooling the poor boy and leave him used and heartbroken only to ruin Jessica's engagement.” A dreamy sigh. “Now that's something I'd love to see. An act worthy of your father.”

He put the sketchbook down. He flicked the lighter open. It was one of those sturdy metal ones; the flame sprang to life at once. He kept a corner of the first sketch to it, looking as it blackened and curled and burned. The smoke drifted out of the window, vanishing in the frosty air. The fire devoured the paper in a gleeful flash until it licked Nathan's fingers. He didn't let go until it died and the sketch scattered in the wind in flakes of black ash.

“I really wish you'd stop doing that,” Rose said.

Nathan turned just enough to send her a scathing glare.

Fuck her and all the servants who had free access to his room.

Fuck Dean and his moves to control him.

Fuck his father especially, fuck him and all the fucks he didn't give about his son.

“Get out before I set you on fire too,” he hissed.

Rose blew him a kiss and left. He burned the other sketch too.

 

When he was done destroying the evidence of any growing affection he might have had for someone, he went to the Real Byrns Only wing. He didn't like burning his sketches, but he had vowed a long time ago never to let the positive things he had be stolen from him. Arran and Debs were firmly rooted in place, thank their stubborn hearts, but everything else was always in precarious equilibrium between secret and destroyed. Even his room, for all that it was meant to be shameful and isolating, was a privilege that could be revoked any second.

Not one of his paintings was about his positive things.

The sketches were. And he burned every single one of them.

He thundered down the stairs, to both annoy the shit out of Jessica and announce his arrival to Debs. He knocked at the latter's door and yelled, “I hope you're not in there with David because I'm coming in!”

When he threw it open, of course the room was empty. Deborah laughed from the adjoining bathroom. “The day I find a way to sneak David in through the guards, the dogs and the cameras, I want your TroublemakerTM badge of honour,” she said warmly. Nathan peered inside. She was in front of the mirror, brushing her long barley-field hair. She smiled at him, and he grinned in return.

“Good morning,” she said. “You look lively.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

She mock-pondered the question, a playful frown on her brow. “It means you look ready to pick a fight with dad again. This early in the morning. Really, you know how to liven my days.”

Nathan grinned even more. “I know you need it to fight the boredom of your posh life.”

She laughed as she turned her attention back to the mirror. The movement of the brush faltered.

Nathan sighed. “What.”

“What what?”

“Come on Debs, just spill it.”

It was her turn to sigh. “So you've been expelled.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Don't look at me like that, you asked.”

He knew exactly where this conversation was going. “So I've been expelled.”

“Again.”

“It was glorious.”

She shook her head slightly, in exasperation and fondness, exactly like Gran did from time to time. “I'll bet. But you're seventeen.”

“So?”

“So, you still have another year of compulsory school to finish.”

“I know Debs, I'm not that stupid.”

She looked at him, grey-green eyes clear and honest. “You're not stupid at all, Nathan.”

He stayed silent. _I can't even read decently enough to pass for literate_ , was the retort on the tip of his tongue, the words tasting bitter in his mouth.

There were times in which Debs' thoughts were so different from his, that they hardly saw things on the same level. But when the matter at hand was Nathan's own thoughts, she could read him as easily as her books. She looked unhappy with what she was seeing. She grabbed his hand and pulled him inside, until they both stood in front of the bathroom mirror. One hand went to his shoulder, light and warm, while the other passed the brush in his messy locks. A useless effort, since his hair was untameable; but feeling the bristles gently caressing his scalp was so relaxing, he didn't want Debs to stop. He bent his head forward a little and just let her.

“You need a haircut,” she said.

Nathan only hummed. Then he said, “I hated that school, Debs.”

“I know. To be fair, though, you hate school in general. You were better at suffering through it when you still believed Gran could make a warts-inducing potion.”

He laughed quietly at that.

“Did you think about what school you'll enrol in next?”

“Like I'll have any say in it.”

“You could try. With all the other things you're stubborn about just to spite them, why can't you---”

“Don't be stupid, Debs. If I said I wanted to go to one school, Dean would send me as far away from it as he can.”

She sighed and put the brush down. “Will you try and not make an enemy of all your classmates this time?”

“As long as I don't get any classmates like the O'Briens this time.”

“Nathan...”

“Look I try, okay? It's not me who goes around picking fights. And it wasn't me who gave somebody a concussion with a fucking brick.”

He was glaring at the sink by then, tense and ready to snap. He was itching to get out and run, it didn't matter where to, just run.

Debs cupped his face in her hands and made him look up at her. “I just meant I wish you'd make a few friends this time.”

He stared at her.

Friends.

Him.

_Hah._

But then a little warm memory bloomed somewhere in his chest, and he smiled.

Debs eyed him with a puzzled expression. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“ _What_.”

“I said nothing.”

“ _Nathan Byrn_ , you tell me what that grin was about right now,” Debs said, pinching his cheeks hard.

“Okay, _ow_ , stop that!”

She released him, and he made a show of rubbing the twin sore spots.

“Ow, Debs, I liked the brick to the head better,” he said, looking down.

“Oh come on, it can't be that bad,” she huffed, but sounding worried. She peered into his face. And found him grinning.

She mock-pushed him away, asking in an exasperated voice, “Why do I always fall for that?”

“Because you're a big softy, even worse than Arran.”

“Pff. No one is a bigger softy that Arran.”

Nathan sniggered.

“Don't think I didn't notice you changing the subject, punk.”

He grinned even wider at that. “Compliments won't take you anywhere.”

Debs stared at him, arms crossed.

“Well, I was just thinking...”

She listened, expectant.

“About the friends thing...”

Watching her trying and failing to hide how much she wanted him to go on was so fucking fun.

“That Gabriel guy.”

Her eyebrows reached her hairline. “What about him?”

“I don't know. He seems a decent guy. Friendly.” He did not think just how and how much _friendly_ they had been with each other just a few hours before. Definitely not.

She stared at him. “ _Friendly_.”

“Not that I'm not ready to break both his arms if he just so much as looks at you,” he hastened to add. “But he was more than decent about it, right? When I told him about David.”

“I guess he was. And he is friendly. And pretty charming---” She took notice of Nathan grimacing at that. “---and basically twelve Nathan, don't look at me like that. I was just sa---” She closed her mouth shut so suddenly, he could almost hear it snap. Then she said, “I can think of a punk who's also basically twelve and craves anything dangerous that dangles in front of him.”

Nathan felt a funny little tug-of-war being fought in his chest, between the instinct to deny and the necessity to play the part. And at the little lurch his heart gave at the notion of lying to Debs, he reminded himself he wasn't lying. Just letting her – and Rose, and others in the near future – run a little wilder than necessary with her conclusions.

So he blanked her, knowing it usually didn't work in hiding things from her, and hoping that whatever she could read in his face would be well misunderstood.

“Wait a minute,” she said, a triumphant smile gracing her lips, “did you even talk to the Swiss Prince? Or is this one of those 'loving from afar' crushes you have?”

“I do _not_ crush like that. I don't crush at all,” he said, affronted.

“Sure you don't, you're too punk-rock for that. Isn't that how they call 'being shy' these days?”

“ _I am not shy_.”

Debs made it to pinch his cheeks again in delighted glee, but Nathan escaped her this time.

“Come on, spill it. What have you been doing with Gabriel when I wasn't looking?”

Nathan's mind, inevitably, provided him with a vivid memory of how soft Gabriel's hair had been between his fingers, how hot his mouth had felt to Nathan's lips and tongue. And so he blushed. Debs seemed exultant enough to squeal. _It's all part of the plan_ , he told himself. _Play the part, play the part as Gabriel said, just play the fucking part._

“Nothing. We just talked.”

“When?” she almost yelled, stepping forward again with her arms outstretched, visibly itching to grab hold of her little brother and wring all his dirty little secrets out of him. Nathan kept retreating, until they were back into her room and with a settee in between them.

“When you got back from that walk to the old hunting grounds. He asked to talk, we did. That's it.”

“You're telling me that you, Nathan Byrn, misanthrope extraordinaire, the Punk With The Perpetual Killer Glare, the same boy who suffers through school and life in general looking like an unapproachable, constantly pissed-off porcupine---”

“Why _thank you_ Debs, I love you too.”

“---found someone who would speak with him first, overlooking all of that _and_ the threats of physical harm done to his own person, _and then_ also leave a positive impression?” she concluded, her voice pitching to near-hysterical at the end.

Nathan glared at her. He also felt a very unwanted and frankly _unwarranted_ warmth on his cheeks. He was proud of his approach to life, for fuck's sake.

And there was nothing weird in the fact that Gabriel wanted to talk to him. He had an agenda, after all.

Debs dived over the settee, but Nathan was faster and ducked away. She laughed as she chased him around the room, until he grew tired of looking like they were both children and he stopped, letting her hug him. He groaned as she enveloped him in her typical overbearing-octopus fashion – she wasn't going to let him go any time soon now.

“I'm very happy to hear that, Nathan,” she said.

Face squished against her shoulder, his answer was unintelligible.

“Really, I am. It's so rare of you to make a friend.”

It was impossible to know whether the sound that came from him was a muffled groan or a protest.

“And I know you're actually so, so shy _but. That. Blush._ ”

Nathan didn't even say anything, completely resigned to his fate and to be rocked by her from side to side as she spoke.

“That blush tell me there are a few things you didn't tell me.”

He froze. Did she know? But how could she? Rose couldn't have told her right? Did Rose even _know_?

“You never told me you liked boys. I should add a 'also' somewhere, shouldn't I? I can't picture you faking how hard you had fallen for Annalise.” She let go of him a little, just enough for him to look her in the eyes. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

He relaxed then. Of course she didn't know, how could she? He grabbed a lock of her hair and tickled her nose with its tip, making her snort and laugh. “I know. It never seemed relevant before.”

“So is it now?”

He pondered about that question for a few moments. “Not really. I'd like him to be my friend. That's what matters to me.”

“Okay then.”

“But you have to keep quiet about it Debs. Promise me.”

She sighed. “Damn them all. I know. But let it be known I don't care about keeping up this charade. Gabriel is better off flying back to his castle in Switzerland.”

“He lives in France.”

“Look at that, already an expert in everything Gab.”

“ _Deborah_.”

She laughed heartily. When she calmed down she finally let him go. “I can't imagine why he accepted to do this. To think he almost fooled me into believing he was interested in Jessica. Does he even like women?”

“No he doesn't. And I was told it's complicated.”

“Complicated as in, he'll get in trouble if he doesn't follow through?”

“Not _that_ complicated.”

“Why thank you for being so enlightening.”

“I don't know that much Debs, jeez. I've known him for two days.”

Eyes still laughing, she sat down on the settee and started to braid her hair. Nathan sat next to her on the arm rest. “What are you gonna do today?” he asked.

She sighed. “We're going to the Ashworth's summer estate. It's empty this time of the year and just the right amount of impressive, I guess. I'll either die of boredom or embarrassment, looking at dad being as posh as possible.”

“Sucks to be you.”

“Royally. What are _your_ plans for today?”

Since it was a Sunday, and he wasn't going back to school on Monday, Nathan didn't have anything to do. He could either hole up in his bedroom all day or roam the house and see if he could piss some staff member off enough to break policy and talk to him. In all the years he had tried that it had never worked. There was a third option, though.

“I think I will hide at The Spot,” he said, smiling.

She made a face at him. “I am so envious.”

He sniggered. “Come on, it's not so bad. You get to spend the day with Arran. I'm the one who should be envious.”

“Sure. This has all to do with Arran and nothing at all with the Swiss Prince Charming.”

“Do you have to?”

It was her turn to snigger. “I think I'll have a talk with his sister.” Braid done, she stood up and made for the door, Nathan following her.

“And why would you want to talk with her?”

She smiled brilliantly at him. “Because she seems a supportive little sister who would be interested in founding the Protect Nathan And Gabriel's Budding Romance At All Costs Squad with me,” she said, opening the door wide and finding Rose dutifully stationed there. “Are you interested in joining, Rose?”

Ignoring Nathan's outraged protests, the bodyguard smiled at Deborah. “Of course I am.”

 

Gabriel had been watching Deborah and Michèle all day. The two girls had become joined at the hip, talking and whispering and giggling to each other, occasionally stealing glances at him.

He was starting to suspect his plan was working alarmingly well. There was no mistaking it, Nathan had followed his part of the strategy. He must have talked to Deborah. And he had been right about Rose, for that was the only explanation as to why she, too, was there with them at the Ashworths' summer residence. Her presence was baffling. What kind of bodyguard left her charge to enjoy a Sunday trip? Wasn't she Nathan's only bodyguard? He had talked as if she was. He had also implied she was his jailer somehow, that her role was also to monitor his actions. Yet here she was, conspiring with Deborah and Michèle. And enjoying it immensely, it seemed.

But her presence there wasn't what troubled him – it was just another piece of the puzzle that was the Byrns' Machiavellian machinations, and he didn't care about those one bit. What troubled him were two lively girls with too much free time at their hands, talking to a girl with the ability to dissolve into thin air and then pop up again whenever she liked. He only half-listened to Jessica as she told some story about an ancestor of the Ashworths, governor of the Carolina colony during the Golden Age of piracy and persecutor of pirates with a taste for hangings. How had she managed to find the perfect story to distract him? It was interesting, he wanted to know everything about this ancestor of Nathan's with blood-soaked hands, but he also wanted to know what Michèle was doing. Did Nathan know this story? Maybe he could ask him to retell it, later. Jessica's spin on the story reeked of self-complacence. And calling pirates 'lowlife rats' was just classist.

Actually, what stories did Nathan like? He had an impressive musical library, but what about books? Movies? What kind of stories moved him, what kind of heroes spoke to him? Gabriel couldn't think of a more important thing to know about him.

He wasn't surprised at him not knowing _Easy A_ – Nathan seemed to take his anti-hero act far too seriously to watch teen romantic comedies. All the better for Gabriel, who was willing to overlook this endearing flaw and introduce his scowling new friend to a fine piece of Hollywood history.

He chuckled to himself. _Friend._ For all that he had known him for no more than two days, that was the word he'd use to describe Nathan. A certain level of familiarity was inevitable after the activities of the previous night. But he couldn't get those awkward, unrefined and enthusiastic kisses out of his mind. He still felt the ghost sensation of Nathan's lips on his own at completely random times. It was like he was trapped in a loop, always coming back to the same unbidden flashes of memories: Nathan's little breathy laugh when their teeth had clashed, Nathan's fingers combing through his hair, Nathan's black eyes so close he could have drowned into them like one drowns into the depths of a deep, dark ocean.

Between these – worrying, exhilarating – thoughts, and Michèle and Deborah shamelessly scheming in plain view, Gabriel found it very hard to follow what Jessica was saying.

When it was finally decided to go back to Bryn Du, he restrained himself from jumping in joy. He and Michèle were chauffeured back in a separate car – no doubt to allow Dean and Jessica to discuss horrible things about him and the soon-to-be-wrecked engagement. Gabriel didn't lose any time.

“What are you and Deborah plotting?”

Michèle smirked at him, equal parts playful and devious. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Really now.”

“Really.”

“If this is about last night, I told you, I swear we just talked.”

“And I believe you, and that's why I'm extremely disappointed in you.”

 _Ah, Michèle. If only you knew_ , he thought. “What did you expect me to do? I have to kn---”

She dashed for him and put her hands on his shoulders, so suddenly close she effectively shut him up. “Gabriel.”

“Uh, yes?”

“You are the most gorgeous boy I've ever seen.”

“I don't think your judgement is obj---”

“And you're single,” she hissed out, like the fact personally offended her. “You have _always_ been single.”

“I don't see the prob---”

“If I leave it to you you'll never make a move on Nathan, who is a goddamned miracle.”

“A miracle?”

“He combines the Heathcliff-clone necessary requirement, without the sociopathic tendencies, plus the fundamental trait of being real. I can't think of anything more miraculous.”

When they arrived at Bryn Du, they were still bickering about whether or not Gabriel had 'unobtainable standards' or just 'excellent taste'.

When they were told dinner would be served in an hour, Gabriel waited no more than three seconds before vanishing. He made sure that Rose was in sight and busy talking with Mr Byrn, and then he quietly slipped away. Up through dark corridors and darker stairwells to Nathan's room.

Which he found empty.

After knocking a few times, he had imagined Nathan was listening to music with earphones in or something like that, so he had opened the door. It was unlocked. He gazed around the space, disappointment smouldering the ambers of his previous excitement. Of course, Nathan didn't have to be there. It was Sunday. He probably had things to do. Places to be.

He didn't dare walking in – even looking felt like a violation of Nathan's privacy. But from the door he had a perfect view of the various easels on display, and they called to him. Every single one was covered by a stained cloth. He could almost feel his fingers touching the fabric, grasping it, pulling it away, with the same clarity he still felt the curve of Nathan's jaw under his hands. He closed the door and walked away. He'd have to wait for his return, whenever that was. Maybe he will come by during the night again? He silently cursed himself. He didn't even have his number. How can you practice making out with someone and not have his number?

 

 

He went as far as the first rickety stairwell before someone grabbed him from behind and pulled him into the shadow under it. His heart thundered in his throat before he heard a voice whispering, “Hey.”

He sagged against Nathan's chest – which set his heart hammering again for a completely different reason.

When the hand covering his mouth was gone, he breathed with a shaky laugh, “What a greeting.”

“Sorry. But Rose is just behind the corner and your sister is waiting at the other corridor,” Nathan said in a low voice as he scanned the stairs. Sure enough, Rose emerged at the bottom of them not ten seconds later.

“Wait, what? Why?”

“I have no clue but I saw Debs talking to them both when I returned. They were giggling at each other. Do you know what it means when girls like them giggle at each other?”

“Trouble.”

“Damn right.”

They watched as Rose went to Nathan's door, didn't knock, and entered. When she found the room empty, she walked to the left side of the small landing. She pushed on a spot that looked exactly like any other on the wood panelling to Gabriel, and a small door appeared. It literally appeared, he had not seen the cut of it in the wall at all. Rose slipped inside it and disappeared into the darkness.

“Holy shit,” Gabriel whispered. “I thought those things existed only in movies.”

“Bryn Du is full of them. And Rose knows all of them, of course.”

“Why are we hiding from her, exactly? Not that I object to it. It's fun.”

 _Almost as fun as staying here, squished against your chest_ , Gabriel thought.

“I think our sisters are trying to find us out together, with the assistance of Rose. So I thought, why not making them work for it?”

Gabriel grinned. “For realism sake?”

“You did mention something like that before, yes,” Nathan said, grinning as well, although he was looking anywhere but in Gabriel's direction.

“So, what's the plan?”

They stepped out of the nook. Gabriel kind of resented the loss of contact.

“Making them chase us around a little? I mean, they have to think we are avoiding them, but we don't really avoid them, right?” Nathan asked, looking around.

“Sounds perfect.”

When Nathan turned, gleeful grin on his lips and eyes sparkling with mischief, Gabriel kissed him. It was light and brief, like a summer shower. Nathan barely had the time to close his eyes before it was over.

“What was that for?” he breathed in surprise.

“Just checking you still remember our practice,” Gabriel answered with a sly smile.

Nathan shoved him, sniggering. “Follow me, Romeo,” he said, and he set out for another set of rickety stairs Gabriel hadn't seen before. The twilight sun barely filtered into this wing of the house, since most of the heavy curtains at the windows were drawn. Shafts of amber sliced through the thin gaps in the dark cloth, and the corridors seemed lined by the orange swords of invisible knights keeping guard. They reached a landing. Nathan signalled him to be quiet and pointed down. Sure enough, when Gabriel looked he saw Michèle waiting by a corner. He looked up, and saw Nathan smirking.

They grinned at each other.

Nathan took his hand and pulled him away, sniggering quietly enough to be heard and make it pass like as an accident. Gabriel heard his sister gasp loudly (if that was her idea of stealth he needed to have a few words with her). Before she could catch up with them, Nathan hid them both behind a door and was leading him behind an enormous bookshelf – Gabriel had barely the time to register they were inside a library of sorts – and inside what looked like a reading nook. Until he reached for the wood panelling and pushed, revealing an invisible door like the one Rose had used. They dove into the crammed space, going down a set of the narrowest stone steps Gabriel had ever seen.

Nathan stopped at an even narrower landing and opened an exit door just enough to have a peek. Then he stepped outside, and Gabriel followed. They were in a dimly lit room, sparse furniture covered in white cloth to protect it from the dust.

“Unused guest room,” Nathan whispered. He crossed it and checked the corridor. It seemed empty. They were about to step out when they heard a clunk from somewhere behind and above them. It sounded a lot like the noise the trap door had made before. Nathan grabbed Gabriel's hand again and ran down the corridor. They turned a corner just as someone opened the door they had just left, and Rose and Michèle's voices sounded in the air – too far to make out the words.

Nathan kept running as silently as he could with laughter bubbling up his throat.

“Where are we going?” Gabriel whispered – as much as he could whisper when he was breathless. Nathan run like he had hell at his heels and wind in his blood.

“The drawing room,” Nathan whispered back, not even panting. What was this boy made of?, Gabriel marvelled.

They almost crashed into the doors when they arrived. Laughing under their breath, they stumbled into the room and sat down on one of the plush sofas.

Gabriel didn't lose any time and asked to be retold the story of Governor Ashworth, bloodthirsty persecutor of pirates. Nathan basked in the attention as he obliged. It was so nice to be listened to, truly listened to, for a change. Gabriel was hanging on his every word. It was as Nathan was relating the tale of Nassau's bloodbath, that Arran opened the room's double doors.

He stared at them in silence, hand still on the knobs. Nathan had frozen, slasher smile in place and arms in the air as he emphasised a gruesome part. He brought his arms down and blushed. Arran took that in, and also the disappointed look on Gabriel's face.

He looked at the ceiling, said “See you at dinner,” and closed the doors again.

“What the fuck was that?” Nathan asked.

Gabriel just smothered his laugh on the sofa's cushions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits for the photo goes to Dan Raven (https://www.flickr.com/photos/odins_raven/). I've been working so long on this chapter, I don't know what to say about it anymore, so enjoy! As always, comments/askes left at my tumblr (cutenegativitycloud) are much appreciated :D


	5. A New Kind Of Teddy Bear (Who Asks A Lot Of Questions)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: mention of physical and emotional abuse on a child, abuse perpetrated by a minor/sibling.

“I don't have one.”

Gabriel tried hard not to stare at him too disbelievingly. “You don't have one.”

Nathan shook his head. He crossed his arms on his chest. The scowl on his face was getting deeper by the second.

Gabriel didn't know what to think. As an excuse, it would be a very poor one, so it had to be true. And he didn't want Nathan to think he didn't believe him. It was just... well, exceptional. Anachronistic.

Gabriel tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “Why not?” he asked.

Nathan shrugged. But what marred his features wasn't anything similar to nonchalance. Then realization dawned on Gabriel.

“Mr Byrn won't let you have one, will he,” he said in a low voice.

Nathan avoided his eyes. He didn't want to delve into why exactly Dean had forbidden him from having a cell phone. Debs had given him one once, a small one, easy to hide. He hadn't seen the point – it wasn't like he had friends to text to – but who was he to refuse Debs? She sent him stupid jokes and pieces of gossip every night, when they were both already in bed. He had been so careful with it, but Debs hadn't been enough. Someone – Dean, Jessica, a servant, who the fuck knows – had read her texts, put two and two together. The choice had been between seeing his room thrashed in search of the phone or just handling it over. Debs had hugged him as he watched his room being ripped apart. She whispered apologies all the while.

He didn't want Gabriel's pity either. Not being allowed a cell phone was the least of his problems. But no matter how hard he stared at his expression, Gabriel remained unreadable to him. Whatever he was thinking, it was carefully hid in the folds of his mind.

“Well,” Gabriel said at last, “it's not that big of a problem.” Then he flashed that smile of his, the one that showed he was the kind of troublemaker who could infiltrate a party through charm and a whole lot of fascinating talk. “It will be a bit of a challenge, but I like a challenge.”

“How so?” Nathan asked, tension slowly seeping out of him.

“If we had a way to talk we could coordinate better. Like this, we'll have to plan ahead every time we want to see each other.”

 _And I won't be able to talk to you while I'm hostage of Jessica_ , he thought, but didn't say.

Nathan shrugged, genuinely this time. “I'm used to it, I don't think we'll have any trouble.”

Gabriel snickered. “I'll just follow your lead, then.”

Nathan grabbed a cushion from the sofa and hit him with it. “What the fuck is that tone, uh?” he said, grinning.

“Nothing, nothing.”

They were sitting in the garden patio, a small circular structure made of white stone and jutting columns, like a Greek temple. It was late afternoon and Gabriel, for all that the settees were comfortable, was starting to feel cold. English weather was as unforgiving and freezing as the tales said – mostly, as his mother's tales said. Nathan, however, was in a good mood, and if he wanted to stay outside, Gabriel would suffer through it. It probably had to do with Mr Byrn being gone for a while. He had business to attend to in Hong Kong, and wouldn't be back for at least a few days, maybe even an entire week. Gabriel wasn't granted any more detail. After all, the person who should have mattered to him would remain at Bryn Du. Jessica was to stay and entertain him. The whole process was interesting, on an anthropological level. She was a fine specimen of English aristocracy in her own right. But the things he really cared about – Nathan's history, Nathan's spite towards her, Nathan's ongoing war with Mr Byrn – were all things on which Jessica's lips were sealed. They had gone on a sort of date that day too – with Michèle and Deborah and Arran in tow. Gabriel felt like he really had somehow fallen into a Jane Austen novel, everyday a different walk through moors and woods and gardens, but always with a party stalking his steps.

Not that he ever wanted to be left alone with Jessica.

When they had returned, Gabriel had glimpsed Nathan as he disappeared into the garden. While every one was inside the house, he had walked to the garden too, hoping to spot him. Nathan had emerged from the cold shadows like a woods' nymph, invisible until the very last moment, like he was made of shadows himself. He had guided Gabriel to a secluded batch of trees, surrounding a small pond and the patio.

They had a good view of the entrance door from there, and they could see a few servants busy with loading and preparing a sleek black car.

“Is somebody leaving?” Gabriel asked, idly curious.

“Arran. He has to get back to Cambridge. It's a miracle he managed to wait until now, he's such a pain in the arse about attendance.”

Gabriel sniggered. Of course Nathan wouldn't be a fan of perfect attendance scores. “Does he already know what he wants to specialize after the pre-clinical years?”

“He's not sure, but he has half a mind of trying paediatrics. He's such a fucking softy.”

“I think he'd be great at it.”

“Of course he would. He's great with children. I think they feel all that supernatural patience and gentleness,” Nathan said. For the first time, Gabriel saw a smile of his that wasn't flashing teeth or sarcastic edges; it was soft instead, and sweet. The warmth of it tugged at a twin warm corner of his heart, a little painfully, a little pleasantly. He had never thought of Nathan as sweet before, but now that the reality of it was before his eyes, he couldn't help but think, _well, of course_.

He had a sibling whose thought never failed to pull his lips into a smile, after all – like a naughty child would pull, with playful fingers and a toothy grin.

He was suddenly disappointed in Arran's departure; he wanted to know, now, if the same kind of smile would blossom on his lips when talking about Nathan. He had been quite tight-lipped about his youngest sibling during their outings, and now Gabriel wondered why. No, he _needed_ to know why. He needed to know so very many things now. What would Arran think of their faked relationship? What did Arran think of the way Nathan was treated by the other Byrns? Was he really as kind as Nathan thought?

Just then, the object of his musings emerged from the manor. Nathan got up from the sofa.

“Be right back,” he said, and walked towards the car. He moved with the graceful sweep of a predator – purposeful and contained, all his deadly strength lying in wait just beneath the surface. Obviously, he didn't feel the cold.

When Arran saw him emerging from the trees, he smiled. The car was ready and all his luggage loaded, yet the servants lingered. He sent them away politely, but firmly. Then, when Nathan was almost at reaching distance, he opened his arms wide. Nathan shook his head in mock-exasperation, but he didn't hesitate a second. He welcomed the embrace and let Arran's familiar, kind warmth envelop him. Like always, the hug lingered.

Nathan sniggered quietly, but he'd be a liar if he'd say he didn't love every second of it. “Every time it's like you think we won't see each other for months.”

“Oh I think I can live without your frowns for a week, but can you bear my absence?” Arran mocked.

Nathan pinched his sides and tickled him mercilessly. “It's only four days, what kind of doctor will you be if you can't even count?” he said as Arran, doubled over and laughing hysterically, tried to escape his grasp. “And let's be honest here, I won't be the one worrying over whether I have a healthy breakfast or not.”

Arran managed to break free of his grasp, holding up a finger as he clutched his stomach. “Time out!” he wheezed. Nathan crossed his arms over his chest and waited, amused.

When he caught his breath, Arran said, “Well someone has to worry about that or you'll end up eating only porridge.”

Nathan mock-punched him in the shoulder. “What would you have me eat? At least it's better than those croissants Gabriel always has.”

Arran seemed to sober up a little at that. He glanced in Gabriel's direction.

Nathan pointedly didn't look. “What?”

“How do you find him?”

Nathan laughed at that. “How do I find him? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It's just... Yesterday, during the walk, he seemed interested in a lot of things that have no relation to Jessica at all. Or Deborah for that matter.”

“Like what?”

“Like...well he kept prodding me with these remarks about dad, and you, and how mum's not around...”

Nathan wasn't amused anymore.

“...But not in these words. He was really careful about it.”

Nathan snorted. “I'll bet he was.”

He caught Arran looking to the patio again. “Are you worried?”

Arran sighed. “I don't know. He asks a lot of questions.”

Nathan bristled at the thought of Gabriel not minding his own fucking business and prodding _Arran_ to satisfy his curiosity. But then he also remembered those times Gabriel had noticed all the little ways in which Nathan's family was fucked up and fucking him over, and he had been considerate about it. He hadn't said “Why the fuck not?” when Nathan had told him he wasn't allowed a cell phone. He had taken it in stride.

Arran put his hands on his shoulders, stopping him from glaring at the ground. “Is he bothering you?” he asked, in his perfected worried-brother voice.

Nathan stared at him for a moment, baffled. Gabriel, _bothering him?_ He burst out laughing.

“Fuck yeah he's bothering me,” he said in between chuckles. Seeing Arran's half-smiling, half confused face didn't help matters.

“Uh... is he?”

Nathan shoved him in the shoulder – hardly using any force at all. Sure he was _bothering him_ – with his crazy plans and kissing practice and reading him like he was the most interesting book in the whole world.

He felt his cheeks heat up. _Especially_ with the kissing practice.

He covered it up by snarling, “Do you really think I'd let a fragile Swiss prince bother me?”

Arran swat his hand away. Nathan swat his. In a second they were swatting hands like five-year-old children.

“I'm trying to be serious here!” Arran said, holding up his hands in surrender as he laughed.

“And I'm telling you to stop worry about me for a second!”

“But what if he's trying to take advantage of you?” Arran pleaded.

Nathan stared at him. “Are you serious right now?”

“...Kinda?”

Nathan shoved him back into the car. The chauffeur, with a perfectly practised move, opened the rear seats' door just in time for Arran to fall inside. He didn't even look at them as he circled the car and sat at the driver's seat.

“Go to Cambridge and study your ass off, Brains, I'll take care of Gabriel's questions.”

“Nathan, if he's harassing you---”

Nathan shut the door in his face. He heard him laugh. Then the car window rolled down and Arran popped his head out. “I expect an extremely detailed account of everything he tells you in the next four days you know. I'm going to keep tabs on him.”

Nathan scoffed.

“And if you think I haven't noticed you two flirting, think again.”

“ _WHAT_?” Nathan squawked, at which Arran had a last hearty laugh before telling the chauffeur to go.

 _Well that was... that was perfect_ , Nathan thought, ignoring the quite-not-painful tug his heart had given. _Everything's going according to plan. Yeah, I should tell Gabriel._ He turned towards the patio, tinged golden now that the setting sun peeked under the grey clouds. Gabriel didn't wave, didn't move; but Nathan could feel, more than see, his gentle smile.

Nathan watched the car until it disappeared down the gravel road. Whenever Arran went back to university, he'd feel himself harden, like steel and spikes surfaced from under his skin. Life was easier for him with his big brother and his disapproving eyes watching over him. Arran was one of those people who didn't judge you; he was disappointed in you, and bloody hell, did you feel sorry for it. Even Jessica wasn't immune – not completely at least.

This time it didn't feel so bad though. Nathan felt even cautiously positive about the days ahead.

He walked back to the patio. This time he could see Gabriel's smile, and he found himself fighting off a smile of his own – what the fuck was he smiling about? He even almost forgot to check for Rose's whereabouts (he thought he spotted her behind the Japanese maple just behind the patio).

Nathan half-expected a smart arse remark when he reached him, and so the silence surprised him. Gabriel just looked at him, smiling in that open way of his. Nathan frowned.

“What are you staring for?” he asked.

Gabriel seemed delighted by that response. “I just think you and your your brother are adorable.”

Nathan sniggered and reached for him, trying to shove him; but Gabriel was ready and fast enough to roll away from the settee and avoid him. He scrambled up and put it in between them.

“Stop looking so smug,” Nathan said. His grin was the slash of lightning in a steel-grey sky, and Gabriel was blinded, exhilarated. He watched how Nathan's strode towards him, how he planted his hands into the headrest in mock-menace, how the nails dug into the fabric, and he remembered how gentle the touch of those hands had been, and then he imagined how it would feel to have them dig into his skin, and _that was bad_. They were so close he could see an old, barely visible scar on Nathan's cheekbone, and that was even worse.

“Did he tell you to behave while he's away?” he asked, holding his gaze. Nathan would be the first to look away – he knew that much by now.

Nathan laughed, and looked at the floor. “He told me to watch out for you.”

“...Who, me?”

“No, your evil twin. Yes you, who else?”

“Why?”

“You scared him with all your questions about me.”

“I never asked anything directly about you. I'm much too smooth for that.”

“So smooth Arran noticed.”

“I would take offence to that, if I wasn't actually on a campaign to convince everyone that we are almost dating.”

“Oh I'm _sure_ it's all part of the plan.”

“I feel like a lot of things retroactively become part of the plan these days.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Well I don't know about you, but I feel like I can't so much as look in your direction without Michèle fawning over me. I tried to suggest that maybe there could be a certain mutual interest and suddenly there's a club devoted to... I don't know, what do they even do?”

“I have no fucking idea and I really don't want to know. As long as they don't get noticed by Jessica they can do whatever the hell they want.”

“You know, Nathan...”

It's strange, how sometimes we notice things that have always been there. All it takes to see them for the first time is the smallest variance from the expected. It was that pause, that little silence, that made Nathan realize something. Now that he had heard Gabriel speak enough, now that he was getting used to his accent, he noticed how he pronounced his name. It wasn't just the barely-there upwards lilt of the vowels, or the peculiar way he pronounced the _th_ sound – although for the first time Nathan could've said _yes, that's it, that's the difference_. But the real difference lied in something more subtle.

In the subtle way Gabriel breathed his name into a phantom caress.

“...I understand by now that you're a reserved person and I respect that, but I couldn't help but notice that aside from a very small circle of people, no one speaks to you. The staff ignores you. That chauffeur didn't even look at you, and neither did the people who loaded the car. And you already told me that Rose---” Nathan silenced him holding a finger to his lips. Gabriel felt a shiver at the touch, rippling down his skin in a warm wave. The second of silence that passed seemed to stretch for centuries, between the point on his lips where all his body's warmth was flooding to and the ghost memory of another kind of kiss haunting him.

Nathan's eyes bored into him as he said, “Not here.” He slowly looked around, a tired kind of suspicion weighting his shoulders. “Follow me.”

He walked away from the patio and into the open garden, where white gravel paths twisted between more scattered trees – too scattered for Rose to stay close enough to eavesdrop. They wandered in silence for a while. Gabriel watched a storm gather in Nathan's black eyes, and chose to stay silent. Statues of ancient pagan deities made way to angels with feathery wings and billowing tunics, some holding lutes, some swords. Their stone serenity was eerie in the silence of a garden too big for a divided family with little staff – and all of them mostly staying indoors. The perfection of the trees and the grass only added to the disquiet.

“You really do ask too many questions,” Nathan said.

“I haven't asked anything yet.”

“It was implied.”

“What was?”

Nathan turned to him, saw his smug grin, and snorted. “The whole 'I want to be your friend' routine. Don't you think you have this all backwards? You should befriend people _before_ you start to date them, Gabriel.”

“Need I remind you I'm _fake_ -dating you?”

“Oh I remember that, believe me. That's why we're talking where Rose can't hear.”

“I wasn't going to expose the plan just like that.”

Nathan put his hands in the front pocket of his black sweater and looked ahead. After some more silence he said, “My life must look pretty pathetic if you pity me enough to ask about it.”

Gabriel grabbed his arm and locked it under his own. “It's not a matter of pity. It's a matter of seeing a perfectly nice person being treated unfairly.”

Nathan snorted again, but there was a note of self-deprecation in his voice when he said, “I'm not nice.”

“Interesting, then.”

Nathan stared.

“Adorable.”

“You can stop any moment now.”

“Cute.”

Nathan shoved him away, grinning. “Fucking Swiss prince.”

Gabriel laughed. “What's the insult in that, exactly? The Swiss part, or the prince part?”

“The part in which you try to sweet-talk me into telling my family history.”

Laughter left Gabriel's face as he wondered if there had been others before – people trying to pry family secrets out of Nathan's loneliness. “I admit I'm curious, and I won't say I'm sorry for asking Arran. I was sure he would never tell me anything you wouldn't want me to know.”

Nathan stopped under the first of a row of magnificent cherry trees in full bloom. Further away from the path, the tops of taller and darker trees shivered in a whisper of wind. A few white petals fluttered down, dusting the grass like snow. In contrast, the branches' coarse and twisted bark was as black as ink. And yet Nathan's eyes were even blacker when they fixed on Gabriel.

In a murmur, he added, “I like you, Nathan. I know we haven't known each other for long, but it's true. I'm not so naïve as to think I can help you, but if you'd feel free to talk to me... I could be happy with that.”

Gabriel had never seen anyone with such an intense gaze. It left him feeling like his own ribs were shrinking back, in awe and longing and heartache, leaving him short of breath.

Still, Nathan was silent.

“Do you think that's selfish of me?” Gabriel asked.

“I'm the last person who could blame you for wanting to know things,” Nathan said. “And I can see you care.”

 _What an enigmatic thing to say_ , Gabriel thought. But if it meant Nathan himself didn't know much about his family's secrets, he wasn't going to ask – it wasn't what really mattered to him.

“I thought this would have been short-termed,” Nathan added, “and then we wouldn't have seen each other again, ever. Because why should we, after you're free from this fucking family?”

Gabriel wanted to say something stupid like _It's not so bad, there's one member who's worth it_ , but he could see Nathan growing agitated. He kept pulling out his hands from the sweater's pocket and then putting them back in.

“But I wouldn't mind having a friend. For a change. Someone who's not Arran or Debs, anyway.” Nathan said, looking anywhere but at Gabriel.

Gabriel could swear his ribs were blooming for him, as air rushed back into him and he could breathe with joy again, heart exposed and yearning to be held. If only Nathan would realize, he could've taken it into his hands, with all his wilderness and tenderness and fierceness.

Instead he half-turned towards the path, like he wanted to resume walking again, and then hesitated and stole a glance at Gabriel. The quickest, most awkward glance, and it was so painfully obvious he was annoyed at himself for even doing it. Gabriel knew he shouldn't have been pleased by it – and yet he was. Nathan kept silent again. Conversations with him often were like this – long stretches of silence punctuating short bursts of words. There were so many things Nathan could've said – so many he didn't know where to begin. They crowded his mind and his mouth until they felt ready to claw their way out, slicing open his lips.

 

 

He resumed walking, Gabriel at his side. Feeling the gravel under his shoes, the crispiness of the evening seeping into the air and the shadows gathering in the rustle of the leaves calmed him down somewhat. He could make out the shape of the outhouse through the trees, ivy covering half of the black facade. This part of the garden was tended to a little less aggressively; the grass was taller, dotted with wild flowers. The stream flowing out from the pond became deeper here, cutting the path to the house. Mace reeds and yellow irises peeked through the vivid green of the rushes. A small bridge granted entrance to a garden enclosed by a low dry stone wall, but the plants there had been abandoned to themselves a lot of time before. The shutters seemed bolted up. Nathan stopped on the bridge and pointed to the outhouse. “That was supposed to be my room,” he said.

Gabriel stared at it. Then he turned in Bryn Du's direction. The manor was almost completely hid behind the trees and the bends of the path, at least a mile away.

He turned back to Nathan, trying to keep a neutral expression. “It's quite far from the house.”

Nathan nodded. “It's quite small too. The room I have now is bigger, and this one is actually a double-room, there's an old kitchen inside. Used to be a servant's family house or something.”

“Did you live here?”

Nathan shook his head. “I only slept here. I had to walk all the way to and from the manor, and anyway it wasn't for long. More or less two weeks. The room I have now is a compromise.”

He paused again, wondering if he really wanted to go on with that story. He sat down on the stone bridge's edge. Soon Gabriel's reflection joined his in the streaming water. Still Gabriel waited, not pressing him.

“I don't know why, exactly,” Nathan began, “but when I was around ten, Dean decided I had to sleep here. It had been abandoned for who knows how long. I think it was because Arran and Debs... you know, liked me. He wanted them to hate me, like Jessica always did. I'm the reason why mum decided to leave. Jessica was old enough to understand what was going on when it happened, so she blames me. Besides she worships Dean. But Debs and Arran were too young. I mean, Arran was two.”

“I think Arran would love you anyway.”

Nathan smiled a little at that. “Probably. That was the biggest problem. Dean can't fucking stand it. Every time he sees me with Arran he looks murderous. Back then I shared the room with him, and suddenly Dean had all my things moved here and told me it was going to be my new room. I remember it so well. It was the first time I really yelled at him. Everybody yelled at everyone that day. Gran yelled at him, Jessica yelled at me, Debs yelled at Jessica. It was a mess. Arran and Gran made a point of walking me all the way to the outhouse everyday.

“But it was pointless. Every night I would go back to the manor and sneak into Arran's room. And so every morning they found me there. In his bed, even. I don't remember sleeping in the same bed as him before that. Anyway, Dean was fucking furious. Obviously. At first they tried to have me locked inside, but they'd have had to board up every window for that to work. So they gave Arran a key and told him to lock himself in to keep me out.”

Gabriel gave a disbelieving laugh. “I doubt he even considered doing that.”

“Arran is a very dutiful son, you know.”

“He did?” Gabriel said, shocked.

“He did, then unlocked the door as soon as I knocked.”

Gabriel snorted.

“After that they started to lock Arran inside from the outside. It took us a few days, but we managed to steal the key from the governess and make a copy. We walked all the way to the village to do that.”

“Wow. How long did you walk?”

“Don't remember. I didn't care because it was kind of an adventure to me, you know? Me and Arran bravely defying the Evil Villain. It probably took us around four hours to go and come back.

“When Dean found out he was fucking furious. Again.”

“Sounds to me like he was 'fucking furious' a lot,” Gabriel joked, but in his heart he felt the ice sliver of dread.

Nathan smiled a little, but it was gone in an instant. “He summoned us both but of course, he blamed me. He slapped me so hard I fell to the floor. He split my lip. Arran grabbed his arm and cried and screamed at him that if he was going to hit me, he had to hit him too. Then Gran and Debs were there and it was over. I still remember how hard I tried not to cry at the injustice of it all. I only wanted what little happiness I could have, and it was never much. Sharing the room with Arran meant that no matter how much shit I had to put up with during the day, I knew I had a safe place to go back to in the evening.

“Later I hid in the garden. Arran found me of course. I had not cried. He came to me, hugged me, and said, 'You were so tough. I'm so proud of you'. And of course, at that I cried.”

Gabriel was afraid of the answer, but he had to ask. “Does he do that often? Hitting you?”

Nathan shook his head. “That was the first and last time.”

Gabriel wanted to feel relief.

“That's Jessica's job.”

Nathan heard Gabriel's sharp intake of breath. He looked up from the water to see the sadness and outrage chasing in his expression. “It's not that bad. I can hold my ground against her,” he went on, rubbing at the scar on his cheekbone. “At least I'm not a battered child or something.”

Gabriel wanted to tell him that abuse didn't have to come from an adult to be real, that it didn't even have to be physical to still be abuse, that Jessica acting on Dean's hate was just as bad as Dean hitting him; but he didn't know how to say that without shattering the hushed calmness of the moment with such ugliness, so he kept that thought to himself. He hated her, though. He felt the scorching heat of it, so foreign to his nature, gone in an instant and leaving ashes on his tongue. An older sibling's job was to protect the younger one to the point of both smothering and breaking the bones of whoever dared to hurt them. That Gabriel firmly believed.

And instead Jessica was an abuser.

“Can I ask why it's your fault?”

Nathan seemed puzzled. “Why mum left?”

Gabriel nodded.

“Oh don't make that face, I don't blame myself for that.”

“That's good,” Gabriel said, softly.

“Well. What have you heard of my mother's shameful adultery?” Nathan asked, pushing the word 'shameful' around with as much mockery as he could.

“Not much. I'm not that interested in lazy gossip.”

“Come on, you must've heard _something_. From your meddling grandmother at least. What was her name? Astrid? Esther?”

“Adrasteé. It means 'inescapable'.”

“Ooh, scary.”

“More like 'scarily appropriate',” Gabriel said, dejected.

“So? What did she say?”

“Something rude and unbelievable like 'her lover was in the mafia'.”

“Well that's true.”

“ _What._ ”

“My dad is in the mafia. He's a hit man. He kills people for money.” He looked at Gabriel, trying to read him, but he was good at hiding his thoughts when he wanted. “I never met him, I don't even know what he looks like. I know his name though. Marcus Edge. You just have to say it out loud in the manor to see everybody shit their pants.”

Gabriel's brows furrowed. “Is he a threat for you?”

“I don't know. I never heard from him in seventeen years so I guess he doesn't care about me one way or another.”

There was a bitterness, a desperation in his voice that made him feel naked and exposed. He wanted to be loved by this shadow towering in his life, so chilling Dean himself seemed to fear him. He didn't want to want it, either, the love of a cold-blooded murderer. When he was a kid he had tried to justify him, to imagine him as an outlaw punishing criminals or, when he stopped believing comic books, one of those honour-bound gangsters so popular in mafia films. But that was even more naïve and he knew it. There is no honour between thieves, killers, traffickers. There is no pity, nor remorse, not even decency. It was one of the few things Jessica liked to tell him he had to agree with.

“For a lot of time, I was lead to believe that Marcus had sneaked into our summer estate and raped my mum. Dean found him, they fought. They both landed in the hospital, Dean with multiple knife wounds and Marcus shot twice. Dean almost died. There was a trial. Can you guess for what?”

“Attempted murder and sexual assault?”

Nathan seemed darkly amused by that. “Attempted murder on Dean's part.”

Gabriel gaped at him. “You mean, _Dean_ was tried for attempting to kill your father?”

“I didn't know it until me and Debs decided to dig up the trial's transcripts, a few years ago. I thought Dean had tried to defend my mum, right? Instead it turns out he knew she and Marcus were lovers. He planned to kill them both and blame it on Marcus, framing him for killing his wife. Guess he tried to bite more than he could chew.”

Gabriel felt his blood turn to ice. _Nathan lives at the mercy of a murderer_ , he thought. _A murderer who was almost killed by his father._

“If it had been anyone else, Dean could have served up to twenty years. But Marcus is a known criminal, although no one ever managed to find any proof against him. And Dean argued that he wasn't the first one to draw a weapon, that Marcus stabbed him first. That he just wanted to find them together and shame my mum, not kill them. Also, he's rich. He hired the best layers of the country.”

“He argued self-defence.”

“Yeah. I mean, it _could_ be true. Would you go unarmed to expose your wife having sex with a hit man?”

Gabriel fought a shudder. The amount of wrongness in that one sentence was staggering. “Do you believe him?”

“I don't know what to believe. I just know my mum wasn't raped, and that's more than enough to me.”

“Of course,” Gabriel said. “Did Dean go to prison?”

“He was sentenced to six years, the shortest amount possible. No judge wanted to do Marcus a favour. They accepted every mitigating factor presented and sentenced him for manslaughter, not murder. Sent him to a nice white collar prison. He was out in less than four years on good behaviour.”

“And then he came back here,” Gabriel said, nodding in the manor's direction. “And taught Jessica all about hating you.”

“ _Hah._ She knew all about that since the day I was born.”

“Did your mother testify against Dean?”

“She refused to testify.”

“But...” Gabriel said, shocked. “Wasn't he planning to kill her?”

“Maybe.” _Probably_ , Nathan thought, and he didn't know if he felt horror at the idea of her death, but he definitely felt horror at not being able to tell. “Maybe.”

“That's so messed up.”

Nathan laughed without humour. “What do you think would be worse? To be born from a rape, or from the love between a serial killer and a woman who doesn't care he's a serial killer?”

Gabriel kept silent. What could he have possibly said? Instead, he put a hand on Nathan's shoulder. Nathan wasn't looking at him, staring at the stream below instead, and he didn't turn initially. He had tried hard to look sarcastic and detached as he spoke, Gabriel could tell; just as he could tell the facts weren't what bothered him. His father and mother's absence did.

Nathan turned to him, eyes downcast. All the spikes and biting rage were gone, and it broke Gabriel's heart. Slowly, like he'd do to avoid spooking a wild animal, Gabriel hugged him. Nathan wasn't expecting it, but his treacherous body remembered all the hugs received from Arran and responded accordingly. Before he knew what he was doing, he was hugging Gabriel back. It was _awkward_. How come he had been okay with fake-kissing but now he was embarrassed by a _hug_? But it wasn't so bad, he realized. He could hide his face in Gabriel's shoulder like that.

He took a shaking breath and then said, “What I don't understand is what my mum and Dean decided to do afterwards. I don't understand it at all. Why didn't they divorce? Why do I have Dean's surname? Everybody knows I'm not his son. As Jessica likes to remind me, I'm the spitting image of Marcus. If it was a way to hide the affair it clearly didn't work.”

“Maybe it's a matter of public image. Maybe of money. I wouldn't be surprised if your mum and Dean signed a very complicated pre-nup when they married. They're both from old money families.”

“Whatever it was,” Nathan said, voice muffled into Gabriel's sweater, “she lost everything. She never tried to see me, or Arran and Debs. She never came back to England. I heard Jessica tried to contact her and she turned her down.”

Gabriel smoothed his hair down. It was tangled, but soft. “Where does she live now?”

“Fucking Luxembourg.”

Gabriel chuckled. “What, you don't like Luxembourg?”

“What kind of useless place is that? It's small and nobody knows where it is.”

“I know. Central Europe, between France, Germany and Belgium.”

“That's because you're a smart arse,” Nathan said. “It's a tax haven. It's sleazy. People speak German. And saying their nationality it's too complicated.”

He felt Gabriel's laugh reverberate in his chest. It was nice.

“Do you think that's why she's there? Because of the financial protection?”

“I have no idea. I don't want to know if she's up to something.” He wanted to add, _I want to see her but I'm scared she doesn't want to_ , but that was one of those dangerous thoughts he tried to avoid, because then he'd also ask himself a lot of other unpleasant things. _What if she does want to but she's like the worst of the Ashworths? What if she's another greedy aristocrat only interested in protecting her money? What if she really did love my father, what does that mean about her, and if she ever met me and saw him in me what would that mean about me?_

Gabriel tried to smooth down a rebellious curl sticking out – or sticking out more than the others, anyway. “Stop overthinking it, Nathan. I can hear the gears whirring.”

Nathan slapped his thigh in retaliation. Gabriel jumped in a most satisfying way. “I don't think about these things usually, you know. This is your fault.”

“W-well,” Gabriel stuttered, “did it help? A little?”

 _Did it now?_ Nathan thought. He lazily swung his legs over the water. Hugging Gabriel wasn't so bad anymore. And although he wasn't lacking in the physical comfort department – both Debs and Arran liked to use him as an oversized teddy bear – he didn't want to talk of certain things with them. How could he discuss their father planning to kill Cora? Or Marcus having an affair with her? But with Gabriel he could. For the first time in his life, he could. He disentangled himself from his embrace and stood up.

“I don't know yet,” he teased. “I think I'll have to test that by telling you more. Maybe.”

Gabriel smiled, then stood up himself. “Okay,” he said, simply.

“You know what, all this talking isn't really my style,” Nathan said. “Set your alarm for 6am tomorrow. You're coming for a run with me.”

 

 


	6. What Do You Mean, Do I Have Anything To Confess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I did promise I would have done something to keep my "Half Bad Fandom Smut Writer" Award (not that I'm the only one... NOW.) (Thank god.)

Gabriel knew the moors smelled damp and earthy with soft soil. The hills covered in shrubs and heather were swept by a cold wind that flattened them down and then waved them up; a wild sea of dark greens and blacks. Steel-grey clouds ran through the sky, but a large strip of sunlight hung under them, just over the horizon. The light was almost blinding, golden and orange and lovely. It haloed the contours of Nathan's hair, painting it almost auburn at the tips. As wind-swept as it was, as wild as it was, it made him look like a moor spirit.

Nathan was running ahead, uncaring of the barely-visible path, of the wind, of the shrubs creeping forward and grabbing at their shoes. He ran. Gabriel followed.

"Nathan," he called, and Nathan turned, black eyes sucking Gabriel in like Charybdis the sea and the ships and their foolish sailors; inexorably and without mercy.

"Gabriel," he whispered, and his hands were on his face, rough with scars and soft with gentleness, and then they were tangled in his hair and pulling, hard and delicious. Gabriel gasped in the kiss and grabbed at his waist, wanting to feel him closer. He gasped again when Nathan hooked a feet behind his ankle and tripped him, pushing him against the grass. Gabriel laughed breathlessly against Nathan's lips. The heather was fragrant and thorny underneath him; the weight of Nathan's body was the most delicious thing, fitting to his own body in all the right places. Nathan pulled away just enough to break the kiss, and Gabriel chased him, putting a hand to his neck and trying to push him down again. Nathan tangled his fingers in his hair again and pulled – not hard enough to hurt, just right to make his mouth go slack and his body still. Nathan held his gaze, black eyes burning and lips parted just enough to show a hint of fangs. Then his eyes fell to Gabriel's lips, and he dove down again. He sneaked a knee between his legs, hard and slow, one hand still keeping him pliant, neck bared. Gabriel loved every second of it, loved the predatory edge in Nathan's smirk. He followed his languid movements with his hips, and the only thing that he wanted, the only thing he could think about, was _more._

No matter how much he enjoyed Nathan manhandling him, he wasn't going to be outdone just that easily.

He reached under his shirt, one hand feeling the heated skin and the strong muscles of Nathan's back, the other cupping his ass and pulling, until their crotches aligned. He felt his erection against his own, felt him moan lightly as they rocked against each other. Gabriel wanted to see him undone, as wrecked as he felt. He swiped his tongue along Nathan's lower lip, slow and deliberate; he saw him close his eyes, felt his shaky exhale on his own skin.

Nathan sat up then and took his shirt off, throwing it carelessly somewhere in the grass. He stared at Gabriel, unmoving and glorious, all fine bones and lithe muscle, and he must have liked what he saw in Gabriel's expression, if his self-satisfied smirk was anything to go by.

Gabriel reached for Nathan's belt and button, desperate now. Nathan chuckled, then groaned low in his throat when Gabriel palmed him through his jeans. He rocked into his hand a few times, but as Gabriel made to sit up, he pushed him back down. Gabriel stared at him as he stood up, uncomprehending at first. Then Nathan reached for his belt and slowly, deliberately slipped it off. Gabriel sat on his elbows and stared at him, not knowing where to stay his gaze, if on that devilish smirk, if on those eyes daring him to look, if on the opened jeans and the triangle of black fabric hiding Nathan's bulge.

The belt's metal buckle clanked to the ground. Gabriel sat up, his hands travelling up Nathan's calves. Nathan pushed both his hands in his hair, smoothing it behind his head.

“Didn't I tell you I'd boss you around, Gabriel?” he said, and Gabriel felt _everything_ lighting on fire, and he grinned, wicked and pleased. He dragged a hand to Nathan's abs, following the trail of black hair until his fingers reached the briefs.

Nathan's voice fell to a husky murmur as he said, “I'll show you how to properly please me...”

Gabriel tried to answer, but his words were muffled and garbled by a mouthful of cotton. He was lying on his stomach, and he was confused for a few – more than a few? He couldn't tell – seconds, wasn't he sitting up? Tendrils of images and sensations were fraying in his mind as he tried to grab at them. He blinked dazedly a few times and shifted under the covers.

His eyes snapped open as pleasure shot up his erection at the movement. He groaned and buried his face into the pillow as memories of the dream were finally pieced together and came back to him. He peeked at the alarm clock on the bedside table and stared at it in disbelief.

Then he groaned again. He was sweaty, his face was on fire, he had a massive case of blue balls, and in less than an hour he was supposed to go for a run with Nathan, unsuspecting star of his filthy dreams. Also he needed the coldest shower in the history of cold, shameful showers. Swiss glaciers-cold. Never mind the fact that all the freezing water in the world would not change the only image seared on his corneas, behind his eyelids, into his brain, guaranteed to replay on loop all day, one hundred percent: Nathan towering above him, slowly unfastening his belt...

“ _Oh, merde_ ,” Gabriel half-grumbled, half-chuckled out, hiding his face in the pillow.

 

Nathan felt small, standing as he was at the centre of the ballroom. Couples were twirling around him, dancing a waltz. They were close enough to brush him with the hems of their clothing – gauzy scarves that rippled in the air like ghosts, velvet crinolines as heavy as an inevitable disappointment, brightly-coloured leather jackets. Nathan looked around the room, down the nave and aisles, so high they got lost in darkness before he could see the ceiling. He looked back down and saw Arran approaching him.

“Dance with me?” Arran asked, like he doubted Nathan would say anything but yes, ultimately. When had Nathan ever refused him anything?

(Apart from the times he asks for the last roasted chestnut, or the last piece of apple pie. He's just pulling Nathan's leg anyway, those times.)

But kicking up a little fuss, make him work for it, was always half of the fun.

“But I don't know how to dance,” Nathan said, looking at his brother's outstretched hand.

“Sure you do, you don't have to think about it. It's natural. Let nature guide you.”

Arran waited patiently, sure and calm as always. Nathan looked around, trying to see if he recognized anyone in the crowd, until he saw Debs. She was dancing with David. Her eyes sparkled with mischief when she approached them.

“Come on, little porcupine. Let's dance,” she said.

“But I don't have the right shoes,” Nathan told her. He stretched out his foot for emphasis, showing one beat-up, heavy-duty boot.

She laughed.

"Oh Nathan, it's not the 14th century anymore!"

He took Arran's hand then, followed his lead. Debs and David danced close; they swapped partners, and Nathan danced with Debs too. The crowd around them was thick, twirling and blurring and making his head spin. He swapped partner again, and found himself in Gabriel's arms. His heart jumped in his throat, then hammered like dragonfly wings. All his blood seemed to have taken a trip to his face.

“You're gay,” Nathan said.

“I am,” Gabriel said, smiling in that sun god-way of his.

“Yup,” Nathan confirmed; after all, he knew already.

Gabriel stopped and pulled him closer. He took hold of Nathan's left hand and twined their fingers together, holding them between them at eye level, arms crossed until there was no more than a breath of space to divide them. In his other hand, he held half a pomegranate. Nathan picked a seed. It was glossy, and red like blood, and just as slippery. He held it up to Gabriel's smiling mouth until his lips parted. Nathan saw the rows of small teeth peeking through, the tongue darting just a fraction when he put the seed inside.

His fingers lingered on Gabriel's lips.

Then Rose grabbed him and pulled him away.

"Rose, what are you doing?" he asked calmly.

 _"_ __Nathan_ _ _,"_ she said, stressing his name with a mock-scandalized tone _, "_ I cannot possibly leave you alone with such a dashing boy! You need a chaperon. Think of your virtue!”

She giggled when Nathan frowned at her. He was going to tell her something, but then he saw Michèle. She was dressed in a suit and tie, a white carnation at her lapel.

"Michèle? What are you doing here?" he asked. As a response, she hooked an arm under Nathan's.

"Why of course I'm here to walk the aisle with you!" she said, sounding way too bubbly.

Nathan followed her down the nave, dodging the dancing pairs. At the end of it, at the top of three steps, sat a black coffin.

"Shouldn't you walk Gabriel?" Nathan asked her as they reached it. "He's your brother. I should walk with _my_ brother."

"But Arran is busy," she said, and pointed at him. He was perched on the edge of the coffin, chatting aimably with Annalise, who was sitting inside it. He had her wrist in his hand, checking her pulse.

Annalise turned, and smiled. "Hi Nathan."

"Hi Annalise. What are you doing?"

She chuckled. "Oh you know. The usual. I like it here." She jumped a little on her butt, denting the white padding, which then slowly fluffed up again. It looked comfy. Her lacy white skirt rode up a little with the movement, showing a hint of pale skin above the stocking.

"Since she's not going away, shall we put a lid on her?" Gabriel asked. Nathan turned to him and saw he had nails and a hammer in hand.

"I don't know..." Nathan mumbled, sounding unsure.

Gabriel smiled and got to work. Annalise obediently laid down, crossing her arms on her chest and closing her eyes. The lid of the coffin was divided in three sections; Gabriel started from the one at the girl's feet. As he worked, Annalise looked up to Nathan. "I thought you would've fought harder to keep me around here, Nathan," she said.

Nathan was entranced by Gabriel's gestures, by his long long, elegant fingers gripping the hammer's handle – they looked so soft, yet he knew they were rough with calluses, yet he also knew how gentle they could be. Nathan's eyes remained fixed on them as he told Annalise, "I want to keep you around. He's the one doing this."

Gabriel smiled brightly at him. "What can I say, I'm very good at nailing."

Nathan tried to groan, and found he couldn't. He tried to move – no luck, but he didn't feel any restraints. He fought to move for a few seconds, his mind aware of his body not moving, yet not completely, until he managed to blink enough times to open his misty eyes. What he saw left him confused for a moment; his room, shrouded in darkness.

That was when that last sentence focused in his mind, and he was left with only one appropriately raucous response.

"...The _fuck_?!"

 

It was five minutes past seven, Nathan should've been at Gabriel's door ten minutes ago, and he was freaking the fuck out.

What the fuck was his brain doing? What the fuck did that dream even _mean_? Like he hadn't problems enough with how Celia had fucked his mind up! And Jessica and Dean before her! And why was he dreaming of Annalise? Scratch that, why was he dreaming of Annalise in a fucking coffin? And what with the... with the...

He stopped his pacing around the room, clenching and unclenching his hands, sure that the mortification was clear as day on his face.

... _what with the nailing?!_

He felt like laughing in _desperation_ . _Nailing_ . So smooth, brain! So fucking _subtle_!

Had he actually paid attention to Gabriel's hands? He couldn't remember noticing them that much before, and yet the image was seared in his mind: those strong, elegant fingers, gripping the hammer...

He felt his face lighting on fire.

What was he, _twelve-fucking-years-old_?

And now he had to go to Gabriel's room. And go on a run with him. During which he will think constantly of _nailing_ and _hammers_. After which, and presumably during which, too, Gabriel will be sweating, and panting, and, knowing the fucker, smiling and looking like a fucking supermodel.

Cursing under his breath, Nathan stopped pacing – _again_ – and threw open the door with a little more force than necessary, striding towards Gabriel's room like he was going into battle.

As he stomped down the hallway, Rose peered out from her bedroom's door. She looked highly amused. “Problem, Nathan?” she asked.

“Fuck off!” he hissed through gritted teeth. “And don't follow me!” he added, which earned him a dismissive giggle.

_Fuck my fucking life!_

 

Michèle was staring at him. She had her arms crossed on the coffee table, head abandoned on them and eyes barely open.

Gabriel smiled over the rim of his coffee cup. “Why are you even up? Go back to sleep, sis.”

“Why are _you_ up, Gab?” she said sleepily.

“I'm going for a run in a few minutes,” he said, glancing at the door.

She hid her head in her arms, muffling a little her next question. “Why did you take a shower _before_ going for a run?”

“It's called 'keeping yourself clean', Michèle. I'm sure you're distantly familiar with the concept.”

She tried to slap him with her face still plastered on the table and missed him by a mile. “Why are you drinking coffee on an empty stomach before going for a run? It's unhealthy.”

“I have no defence for that,” he said, chuckling.

Michèle angled her head so that one bleary eye could stare at him. Her uncombed, messy hair covered half of her face like a happily overgrown bush. “Are you going with Nathan?”

“Obviously.”

“Was he the reason why you were moaning in your sleep?”

Gabriel almost chocked on his coffee.

“ _Oh putain_ you _did_?!” she yelled, shooting up from the table, completely awake.

“No I didn't!”

She looked downright gleeful as she said, “You totally had a wet dream about him, I can read it on your face! You _pervert_!”

“I said I did not _and stop_ _yelling_!” Gabriel yelled, stealing worried glances at the door. God, Nathan wasn't coming _right now_ , was he?

And most unfortunate choice of words in the history of _ever_.

_Awkward._

And Michèle could stop spazzing anytime now – between her and his subconscious, he was having an interesting – that is to say, very embarrassing – morning. How could she even tell about the dream? Did she have an especially designed built-in system to always zero in on the most embarrassing thing he might be thinking about? It must have been a standard feature of sisters. Because the other explanation was that she really heard something during the night, and he was not going there. At all.

_Awkward._

“What was the dream about? Do I even want to know? Was it totally steamy? Or was it romantic, you unbelievable sap?”

“ _For the love of---_ ”

Three knocks sounded at the door.

Gabriel and Michèle froze and stared at it. Then he glared in accusation at her, and she covered her mouth with her hands. He sighed in defeat, before striding to the door and opening it, eyes downcast.

_So awkward!_

His fingers flew to his ear, tucking his hair behind it before looking at Nathan. Who was scowling, viciously. Who was blushing, also viciously.

“You ready?” Nathan spit out.

Gabriel tried to simultaneously apologize and glare some more at his sister. “Nathan, I'm sorry, Michèle was kidding, I swear.”

Nathan stared at him, puzzled. “What? What did she say?”

“...You didn't hear that?”

Nathan scowled again, even deeper than before. “What the fuck has she got to do with anything? Are you fucking ready or not?”

Gabriel scrambled to get his phone and jacket. As he hurriedly put it on, he sent Michèle the look that in universal sibling speak meant _I am so going to smother you with a pillow when I get back start to say your prayers._

She blew him a kiss – which translated to _YEAH RIGHT BRO, also YOU GO BRO GET THAT BOOTY._

Gabriel slammed the door on his way out.

He and Nathan stood too close, awkward and flushing. Nathan waited for Gabriel to take a step back, realized he couldn't with the door right behind him, stepped to the side. He cleared his throat before saying, “Let's go.”

Gabriel was more than happy to comply.

 

  

 

They got out of the mansion's grounds through a dried ditch. The tunnel under the wall used to be for a stream, and it was hidden in a thick patch of trees. Nathan had angled the two closest security cameras so that they were just a few inches shy of actually watching the entrance. He removed the grate covering the tunnel and let Gabriel out first, then followed and put it back into place. The early morning was quiet, with only a few scattered bird songs and not a soul in sight. Not wanting to break the peaceful spell, Gabriel talked in a low voice when he asked, “Couldn't we have used the entrance?”

“Well, the entrance is pretty far from the track I usually follow,” Nathan answered, “but really, it's the thought that counts.”

“Is sneaking out your hobby?”

Nathan sneered. “More like my full-time job is sneaking under Dean's nose for the hell of it. Come on,” he added, “follow me.”

They jogged down a dirt road, flanked by wire fences and grassy shrubs. The morning dew was fragrant with the smell of mint and nettle. Fog banks crawled lazily just above the ground, golden where the dawn light streamed, milky grey under the trees' shadow. Nathan set the pace, trying to gauge Gabriel's comfort level. He wasn't used to run with someone else and he wasn't sure he could be patient with somebody slow, but the other boy seemed able to keep up, so he picked his pace until he was running almost as fast as he usually did – not quite, though.

“No relaxing jog for you I see,” Gabriel joked, a little out of breath.

“Too fast?”

“Nah, it's fine.”

They didn't speak much after that. The scattered trees gave way to the yellow and grey vastness of the moorland, dotted with rocks silver-black with lichen. The cold cut at the lungs, breaths coming out in plumes of white.

Nathan looked straight ahead, never turning, gauging Gabriel's status only by his steps. He knew these paths like he knew the delicacy of Arran's hugs; he didn't have to pay attention to know where he was going.

That also meant his mind could roam free. Free and back to the dream and to how enticing that strip of perfect skin had looked, showing between stocking and skirt. It was a good thing, certainly, that his brain – more like _hindbrain_ probably, what-fucking-ever – had decided to focus on that? Although mildly uncomfortable? He didn't like much thinking about Annalise when awake, not anymore, not after how they broke up, but he could cut himself some slack on that slip. No point in denying how beautiful she was. Or how much he missed holding someone else. So he missed sex, so what? Hormones overdrive, that was his problem. No point in denying how all this talk – and _action –_ about kisses got him a little creative in his dreams, either. And so what if that led to Gabriel appearing in said dreams, it wasn't like Nathan had been fantasizing about anything inappropriate – unfortunate implications aside, and he was _not_ thinking about those. He'd rather think of how vividly he had seen Gabriel's lips part just slightly, plush and glistening where his tongue had swiped in concentration, and for a second he wondered how it would feel to press two fingers inside that mouth, on that soft tongue he had tasted already and _woah_ , where the _fuck_ did that even come from hold the fuck--- he stumbled.

“You okay?” Gabriel asked.

“Y-yeah, yeah. I'm fine.”

Could one die of embarrassment? Could _he_ die of embarrassment? Because he felt this close to just drop dead. Or at least lay down on the ground and not move for a decade or two. He had to do something for...whatever was wrong with him. He _knew_ his go-to reaction to embarrassment was flustered anger, excessive – well, more than usual – swearing and general unwarranted lashing out, but he didn't want to do that with Gabriel. Although dead silence was probably just as bad, and that's precisely what he was dishing out, and bloody hell he had to _get. A. Grip. Right. Now._

He focused on running, on how his feet struck the earth hardened by the night cold. The path wound up the side of a hill, and on a whim Nathan decided to abandon it and reach the top. He sprinted up, crunching the grass still frozen under the morning frost in the patches not yet reached by the sun, feeling his leg muscles burn and strain against gravity.

 

 

Gabriel was right behind him. He was panting heavily as they gazed at the moors, stretching as far as the eye could see, until they dipped into the grey line of the sea miles down to the west. Nathan waited for Gabriel to say something – a witty remark, perhaps, or something equally intelligent, like Gabriel always did. Nothing came. He looked at him, puzzled. He wondered for a second if he had pushed him too hard, but he looked fine, not like Arran did the one time they had gone for a run together (something they mutually agreed they'd never try again).

He tried to fill the silence somehow. “Look,” he said, and pointed to a nearby hill, “there's a cromlech there.”

“Wow, I see that,” Gabriel said, noticing the three megalithic stones, topped by an equally impressive slab. “Is it a tomb?”

“No idea. Not because I don't know, but because no one has any idea.”

Gabriel chuckled. He didn't say anything more though, and it was starting to unnerve Nathan.

“There are a few more of those scattered around. Most fell down though, so there's not much to see. I used to go play around that one with Debs, she had me convinced they were fairy gathering places or something.”

“And you believed that?” Gabriel asked, teasing.

Nathan shoved him lightly, secretly pleased. “I was, like, five.”

Gabriel felt the weight of Nathan's gaze as he looked at the horizon, to the strip of sea barely recognizable from the line between sky and earth.

(If there was any truth to the idea that one can sense being looked at, it must have been because of people like Nathan existing – people who stare without a hint, not even a speck of shyness. People who stare until one can't think about anything but them staring.)

His chest still heaved lightly from the run. He wasn't surprised to see that Nathan wasn't breathing any faster; if anything, he looked fidgety and aching to run again – as impatient as a puppy, and with as much energy to burn... and his _stupid, traitorous_ brain _of course_ flashed back to the dream, _again_ , like it did _only every two seconds!_ He had to get a grip fast, before he embarrassed himself... he glanced quickly at Nathan. He was _still staring_.

Gabriel panicked for a second, thinking _Can he tell?!_ Before hurriedly pushing the thought down. Of course he couldn't, what the hell.

Gabriel jutted his chin towards the far-off sea, trying to look casual. “Is that the Irish Sea? I didn't think you could see it from here.”

“No, that's Cardigan Bay. There's Eryri between it and here though.”

“Eryri?”

“You know, the national park. Snowdonia.”

Gabriel perked up. “The one you said has climbing spots?”

A little smile danced at the corner of Nathan's lips. “Climbing spots over cliffs perfect to plummet to your death. That's the one. Eryri is the Welsh name.”

“Can we go? If I have to waste another day following Jessica around I might do something drastic.”

“Like what?” Nathan asked, voice dripping sarcasm.

“Oh, I don't know. Tell her I'm gay maybe. That would be a blow to her ego.”

“Nice idea. Let me know where your funeral will be if you do.”

Gabriel snorted.

Nathan raised an eyebrow at him.

“...Oh come on.”

“Do not underestimate her. She's got Dean's genes – the worst of them.”

“Well, I'm pretty sure she is going to get mad at me at some point.”

“Let's just hope she'll want to maintain a everything-is-fucking-perfect façade with the other aristocratic families. Best way to do that is to carry on like nothing happened,” Nathan said. Then he smirked in dark satisfaction. “Sounds like the entire history of the Byrn family, really. They can't catch a break.”

Gabriel stayed silent for a moment. The morning breeze caught up, playing with his hair. “Hey,” he said, softly. “I won't let you get the blame for this.”

Nathan looked at him with a kind of intensity he hadn't yet seen. Something naked and vulnerable flickered in his expression before he shut it down. Without a word, he turned, and began the descent down the hill. Gabriel followed, equally silent. What did he say? But he had to focus now – focus on his own breathing and steps, lest he found himself wheezing after Nathan's brutal pace. And focus on running, _only_ on running – not on how Nathan's back muscles flexed and moved right before his eyes, and _certainly not_ on his arse.

His eyes darted to Nathan, then hurriedly away, to the path, to the bushes, to anything else around, until of course he missed a rock right in his way and he tripped and almost fell. Nathan turned to him. In that moment, Gabriel would have very much liked to tell him how adorable he looked when he was surprised; dark brows arched up like the backs of content cats, rubbing on an owner's legs, and perfect lips shaped in the tiniest “o”. But of course he couldn't.

Right?

When Nathan realized Gabriel had stumbled on a rock because he was too busy looking around, he snickered.

“Come on slowpoke,” he said, “you're not wheezing enough, I have to work you harder.”

“ _What?_ ” Gabriel squeaked out before he could stop himself. Nathan just snickered more, and indeed ran even faster. Had Gabriel imagined it, or was Nathan yanking his chain? And where did he even get all that energy? He was barely panting.

“Do you have something to confess to me?” he asked, panting (because he was actually human and not a running machine).

Nathan whirled back to him, his eyes wide. “Huh?”

“...Huh?” Gabriel mirrored, puzzled. He had only meant to make a joke about Nathan being the Terminator or something.

“N-nothing, nothing...” Nathan stammered. After he turned again, Gabriel could see the tips of his ears reddening.

They ran in silence after that. The path was little more than a line of grey-brown earth, cutting through the heather shrubs and the rocks. Although they were going back in the general direction of the manor, Bryn Du was nowhere in sight, hidden by the hills. Then, at a fork, Nathan took a path that led to the woods. Gabriel was almost tempted to ask where they were going; instead he just followed. The canopy of trees was thick; most of them were pines, their branches heavy with dark green needles. A soft bed of them covered the ground, muffling their steps. The path disappeared under it, but Nathan kept running. Boulders covered in moss and cracked by time dotted the woods. It was so silent, that Gabriel heard it when they were still far away. Water. A crumbling dry-stone wall was barely visible under the dark earth, dead leaves and roots almost covering it; white anemones peeked through the gaps in the rocks. They ran along it, the song of the stream growing until the woods opened to a clearing. The rocky terrain was cracked in two, a semi-circular natural step dividing the clearing like a crescent moon. The stream flowed over it in a little waterfall, then mellowed and spread in a shallow, blue-green pond. The water was so clear, Gabriel could have counted the pebbles on the bottom.

Over the rocky wall, half hidden by the branches, there was a tree house.

Nathan stopped right at the edge of the pond. He scratched his neck. He was avoiding Gabriel's eyes (and he wasn't even panting).

Gabriel stared in amazement for a few seconds as he caught his breath, taking it all in – the perfectly small clearing, the tall pines surrounding it and protecting it, the solid tree – an oak? – under the house, the branches hoisting it up as if in the gentle grasp of careful fingers.

“It's so beautiful,” he murmured at last.

Nathan's smile was small and pleased. “David helped me building it. He won all the boyfriend's points with Debs.”

“You built this?” Gabriel asked, awed.

“Well, without David's help it would have collapsed under my arse a long time ago. But yeah, I built most of it.”

Gabriel smiled brightly. “You're incredible.”

“Oh shut up,” Nathan quipped, scowling. “We could hide here sometime. Nobody knows where it is but me and David.”

“Not even Arran? Or Debs?”

“Not even them. Safer this way. Although I'm almost sure Gran knows.”

“What makes you think that?”

“It's Gran. She always knows what I'm up to somehow; it's her gift. Plus I'm ninety percent sure she grilled David for information, and believe me: when Gran wants to know something, she knows how to get it out of someone.” Despite his words, Nathan was smirking. He wasn't bothered by Gran's antics; if anything, he was not so secretly pleased that she cared (and the thought of thoughtful, considerate David frantically trying to appease her without revealing too much was hilarious, so).

(Also, he wasn't worried about Gran destroying his safe haven.)

He jumped over the stream and guided Gabriel to the tree house. “Wait here,” he told him, and climbed up the tree. There was no ladder on the trunk – Nathan was way too paranoid of anyone finding the place for that – but he had a rope ladder hidden somewhere. He had just made it to the house and started to wonder where the bloody hell he had put said fucking rope ladder, when Gabriel popped his head over the small platform one could have called a terrace, if they had felt particularly generous.

Nathan raised an eyebrow at him. “I see you weren't bluffing with the climbing thing.”

“Judging from how long it took you to climb up here, I'm pretty sure I can beat you at it,” Gabriel said, grinning.

“Fuck no you can't!”

“Wanna bet?”

Nathan glared at him, suspicion creeping in. “Bet what?”

Gabriel considered. “What about...if I win, I decide what's the next thing we do as a fake couple.”

“Don't you do that anyway?”

“Yes, but I only do things you also approve of.”

Nathan crossed his arms and snorted in defiance. “Whatever, you're not going to win.”

Nathan lost.

 


End file.
